


Big City Nights

by TheResurrectionist



Series: Big City Nights 'verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Angsty Dean, Attempt at Humor, Author Is Sleep Deprived, BAMF Dean, BAMF Sam Winchester, Blackmail, Blood and Gore, Bombs, Brotp, Burns, Cas is John Wick, Cas is an ex-Russian assassin, Castiel is Not Innocent, Civil War, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Crack and Angst, Crowley Being an Asshole, Crush at First Sight, Dark Dean Winchester, Dark Sam Winchester, Dean Has Issues, Dean is In Over His Head, Dean is So Done, Dean speaks rudimentary Russian, Django Unchained was an influence on this story, Domestic Violence, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, Evil Dean Winchester, Evil Sam Winchester, Explosions, F/F, F/M, Fight Sex, Fluff and Crack, Gang Violence, Gen, Guns, Hate to Love, Hurt Gabriel, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry Sam, Implied/Referenced Suicide, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Judge!Julian Richings, Kidnapping, Lawyer!Michael, M/M, Mexican Mafia, Mobster Dean, Mobster Sam, Multi, Not Beta Read, Not really a mafia?, Other, Protective Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester, Psychotropic Drugs, Rival Relationship, Russian Mafia, Sam is Not Amused, Sam is a Cock Tease, Sam is a Little Shit, Sam's Puppy Dog Eyes, Suicide Attempt, The Author Regrets Nothing, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Turf wars, Unfortunate Implications, Unrelated Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Unrelated Winchesters, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Various guns, Wesson Mansion is Wayne Manor, almost, kneecapping, lawyer!Crowley, mafia, or something, so was Person of Interest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-04-10 12:43:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 127,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4392317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheResurrectionist/pseuds/TheResurrectionist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Wesson and Dean Winchester are rival mob bosses who can't stand each other. Their criminal underlings decide to take things into their own hands when negotiations get a little hot and bothered. Unrelated!Wincest.</p><p>Warning: I deal crack and so do the Winchesters. Featuring an entourage of spn characters and some kneecapping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love at First Fistfight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Angelicaldevil](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Angelicaldevil).



> A/N I wrote this last night after thinking I needed something funny in my life. Hope you enjoy!

Dean Winchester leaned back in his seat and sighed, rolling a sip of Moscato in his mouth before swallowing it. It was a beautiful night, and one of the nicer ones since he'd started vacation. The champagne was a pretty pink color, also the color of the swimsuits of the two models currently sitting on his lap.

The girls had been thrilled to be invited to his vacation yacht party, not that they could have refused. They hadn't left his presence since, and it made dealing with all of his partners that much more uncomfortable-for them. Dean was perfectly, perfectly relaxed, and dealt with all business matters and bills with two smiling ladies on his lap. It was the perfect vacation.

A good four hours into his party, and the people two decks below were still dancing. Champagne in hand, he looked out across the waters from where they were anchored, wondering if they had enough money to renovate another yacht. He made a note to ask Chuck about it tomorrow.

The Winchester empire was slowly gaining a foothold again, but not a big enough one that Dean could get cocky. Just a little flamboyant, as the party he was throwing tonight suggested. A little tease of what was to come.

"Sir," a terse voice said behind him, interrupting the moment. Dean didn't bother to look, continuing to enjoy his view.

"Sir, I need to speak with you."

Castiel's worried tone finally had him turning around and facing his lieutenant, frowning at the intrusion. "What?"

"There's been an incident," Castiel said quickly, voice low. His eyes looked terribly blue in the lights. He said nothing more, causing a fission of dread to roll through his stomach.

Dean shoved the two girls off his lap as soon as he processed the words. They fell to the wood decking with a squeal, but Dean was already leading Castiel to the main office and didn't look back. "What happened?"

"...Dean…" Castiel looked torn, the words hesitant. He directed them into the conference room and lowered his voice even further. "It's Wesson's people. They took out Alaistair an hour ago."

Dean saw nothing but red for a second, falling into a chair. He pushed away Castiel's outreached hand and felt the words spin inside his head. Alastair was dead.  _Alastair was dead…_

"Dean-Sir…" Castiel was saying when the roaring in his ears subsided. "I know he was a mentor of yours, but they're claiming it was encroachment. Land issues-"

_What?_

"Turf wars?" Dean said, disgusted. "They took him out over a  _turf_ violation? Alan Wesson would never do that-"

Castiel stopped him before he could lay a hand on the phone, intending to call Alan and stop whatever shit was going on.

"...Alan is dead as well, Dean. His son performed a coup d'etat and took the entire business over weeks ago."

A coup in one of the families. And no one thought maybe, just  _maybe,_ he'd want to hear about that.

Dean was beyond seeing red-he was white hot with anger. "You're telling me one of the largest mob families just changed hands to some wet behind the ears punk kid and  _nobody told me_?"

His voice was loud enough to rattle the windows. Castiel looked around the yacht's interior guiltily. "You were on vacation, sir."

"Get me back to port now," Dean snapped at his lieutenant. "And get me everything you have on the Wesson kid.  _Now._ "

He walked into his private office and slammed the door hard. The music was still pumping out on the deck.

" _And throw out this damn party_!"

* * *

"What do we know?"

It was five a.m. and it looked like none of his men (or women for that matter) were awake. Dean didn't give two shits. He was running a mob, not some teenage slumber party.

He tapped the table again, glaring across the shiny wood. They were in one of their nicer warehouses, but it was still cold as balls at five in the morning. It was what happened when all of your secret hideouts were near rivers (for ostensible reasons).

"Is somebody  _awake_ in here?" Dean yelled, pounding the table. "Talk to me about Wesson.  _Now_!"

Anna stood quickly, a stack of papers in her hand. She didn't look up at Dean, hands trembling. "His-his name is Samuel Wesson. Born in California. Son of Alan Wesson and his late wife…"

 _Alan's wife died?_ Dean wondered dimly, then remembered sending flowers a few months back. Oh yeah. Cancer.

"...graduated pre-law from Stanford, considered by most of the families as an unlikely inheritor. His brother Aidan was next in line but was also killed in the Wesson coup last month. Alan's forces fell under Samuel with little to no resistance detectable. Known aliases are Sam, Samuel, Wesson and the Boy King."

"...The Boy King." Dean said dryly. That was a new one. "Who is this little shit, twelve? It's not fucking dungeons and dragons!"

"No, sir…" Anna said, flinching at his outburst. "He's actually twenty-seven."

Dean rolled his eyes at her naivete. "Sit down, Milton."

"Sir, the name does fit," Benny Lafitte said from across the table, where he was rolling one of his famous southern cigarettes. His drawl made the title sound unimportant, but he was a respectful lieutenant. "Wesson's got a headcount of over 200 as of this week. We were watching him for a while but he's stayed away from what's ours. Until…"

"Until Alastair." Dean said, finishing for his other lieutenant. Castiel looked him straight in the eyes while Benny nodded. "Who's Sammy boy here been taking out? All old enemies?"

"Contract evaders. Weak families." Benny answered, chewing on his cigarette.. "He's making his way up the totem pole, and the kid damn well made a name for himself. Rumors're saying he took out Campbell with his bare hands."

"Is he inching near our assets? Our properties?" This Dean directed at Chuck, who quickly shook his head. "So why Alastair? Why the dummy turf violation?"

"Wesson's people claim, quote unquote, "Roman's territory was inducted into the Wesson turf as of Monday. Alastair was warned repeatedly when sighted on land and was taken out to avoid bloodshed." They said he had a gun and seventeen clips of ammo on him."

"Bullshit," Dean said, but knew deep down it was plausible for the old fucker. "What a polite fucking way to tell me they mowed down one of our own. Did they send flowers?"

"They did," Jo, the receptionist, interjected. "Nice ones too. None of that 3 for a dollar shit they sell at Macie's."

Dean blinked at that, momentarily speechless. "...Any negotiations so far?"

"Other than taking out Roman, Campbell and significant chunks of Rowena's land they've stayed under the radar." Castiel said quietly. "They'll reach out soon, though. I suggest we let them."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Call a meeting with Samuel first."

"Sir, is that-"

"Call the meeting," He interrupted Benny, who looked mildly perturbed at his tone. "I want Sam Wesson standing in front of me in the next twenty four hours or I start shooting old ladies!"

Never mind the fact that he'd never shot an old lady before, or even really wanted to. Dean left the conference room, muttering to himself about useless mob employees and sharp objects.

* * *

Castiel returned to his private rooms a few hours later to inform him that a meeting had been arranged for tomorrow at eleven. Dean accepted this with a curt nod, asked for the nice conference room to be catered, and rolled over.

He took his sweet time getting up the next morning, sliding into the steam shower with a small groan. He decided silk was proper and threw on boxers, socks and a shirt from the material. Slim black pants and a dress coat completed the look. Dean fastened his cuff links in the mirror and gloated over his appearance. The sun had done him good after all, darkening his skin and making his eyes even greener.

Benny was waiting patiently outside his door when he rolled out at 10:54, his sidearm visible and three other guns tucked into his clothing that were not. Castiel stood at the conference room's entrance, his stance letting Dean know their guests had already arrived.

Dean stared the door down for a nanosecond, wondering vaguely if this was the deal that was finally going to go south for him.  _Well, now or never..._

He threw open the doors and strode in, seeing a small collection of people in the back. A circular table had been prepared and a half dozen men sat at it, while various security guards in black stood at the wall.

"You're early. Can I interest you in some breakfast?"

The men at the table quickly turned towards him. He put on a welcoming smile, spreading his arms slightly. Some of the men smiled back, which was new. Dean fixed his eye on the person they all immediately looked to, glad the trick had worked. Everyone on the totem pole had to ask permission.

"Well," The man at the center raised an eyebrow, indicating his plate. He smiled back at Dean, cheeky. "We've already been served, but thank you."

"Dean Winchester," Dean said cordially, crossing the room to shake hands with the man. Wesson appeared honey blonde and...balding? He stared in shock as the man stood to shake, eyes quickly catching the difference in their heights. He looked... _old_ for twenty-seven.

"You must be the Boy King. They weren't lying about the size with that title, were they?"

The mood of the room plummeted, and even the clink of silverware ceased. Wesson looked shocked but quickly covered it with a smirk. Suddenly, he picked up his plate and moved two seats down without explanation. Dean continued to stand, utterly confused.

"They weren't lying when they said you weren't quick on the uptake." A low voice said from across the room. Dean turned and spotted one of the security guards leaning against the wall, already recoiling at his tone.

"And you are?"

The speaker was hidden in the shadows, but they hid nothing about his size. The man uncoiled himself from the wall and strode forward, grabbing a champagne glass from the balding man. He inclined his head, a small smirk on his face. "Sam Wesson. I see you've met my second in command."

Dean stared, trying in vain not to let his mouth fall open. The entire room seemed to be shocked, save Wesson's people. Wesson was tall and well-built, his muscular frame pulling at the suit he was wearing. Soft chestnut hair fell across his face, framing a pair of fox-slanted eyes. He was also staring at Dean like he'd won the first round, which was nothing this breakfast was about. Especially with this college dough boy.

"Scare tactics at the first meeting?" Dean queried, regaining his composure. He gestured for a glass of his own and sat at the other end of the table, outwardly unperturbed. "A bit outdated, don't you think? We're all friends here."

Sam nodded at this, taking his place. The blonde lieutenant winked at Dean from his left, digging into a pile of pancakes. "What can I say? I like to keep people interested."

Dean smiled, but on the inside he was raging against the kid's slimy, cocky tone. "Of course. Can I get you more champagne?"

Sam tipped his glass towards him, shirt moving to reveal a glimpse of tanned, muscular flesh. "Thank you, Mr. Winchester."

Usually this was the point where he'd say, with a bat of his eyelashes,  _Call me Dean…_ Since he wasn't feeling flirtatious, Dean settled for glaring at Sam's perfect abs when the other man wasn't looking. Pretty boy was nothing but California charm and sugar. He was going down, fancy Daddy or not. The kid wasn't smart enough to save himself, and that made him fair game in Dean's book.

The meal finished fairly quickly, most of Wesson's men eating fairly large amounts. Dean glared at his men when they tried to take second helpings, though it wasn't like they were going to run out. The sooner this meal was over, the better.

"So, down to business." Dean said, clapping his hands together. They had moved to the small coffee tables near the fireplace, taking the larger stuffed chairs. "You took out Alastair. Why?"

Samuel looked down, finally perhaps at a loss for words. A moment later he gestured his men out of the room, a ballsy move regardless of the meeting. Dean raised an eyebrow and left his security standing at the doorway.

"It was an unfortunate event. Self defense." Wesson said, placing his hands together. He looked up at Dean, hazel eyes wide with sympathy. "I'm sorry it had to happen, Dean. But he was attacking our complex with a gun. What would you have done?"

"Tranq-ed him." Dean said immediately. He levelled the man with a cutting stare. "Admit that you took him out for political reasons and maybe I'll let you leave here alive."

Sam narrowed his eyes at the turn in his tone. "And if I don't?"

"I'll start with your men, and then I'll take you." Dean threatened. Usually he didn't start with the threats until later, but something about this punk ass kid made him mad. "What gives you the nerve to rock the boat? Taking over after Alan was foolish."

"I'm glad you think so."

Dean stood, making a face as he turned to leave. "Go home, college boy. Come back when you've learned something."

"Funny how you threaten me, considering you didn't like the man."

Dean turned at the words, unwilling to completely stop. Something about the kid's tone implied he knew something. "Ah?"

"I'm sure you know how it is when you start at the bottom of the food chain, Dean." Sam's smile stretched across his entire face. His fox-slanted eyes were full of chutzpah. "You hear things. Rumors."

"Is that so?" Dean turned, balling his fists. "Like what?"

"Rumors about little boys." Wesson stared him straight in the eyes, unwavering. "Rumors about bad men who touched them in bad places."

The room was beginning to turn red. Dean let an easy laugh escape him, signalling under his hand to his men that he was ready to have his guest leave. "I don't appreciate what you're insinuating."

Wesson quirked an eyebrow. "So you didn't want, deep down, Dean, really deep, to see him dead?" He paused, mulling on the allegation. "Did you like it, then?"

Dean threw himself at the other man before he could stop himself, ready to punch the living daylights out of the conniving, snot-nosed punk. His fist was two inches from Wesson's oblivious face when it was wrenched away painfully.

He stumbled, unable to believe how quick Wesson's reflexes were. He cradled his most likely broken wrist and attacked again with a roar. Wesson dodged his second hit easily and stepped around him, drawing an arm around his neck.

A second later he was in a solid chokehold, Wesson easily holding him as his men stared in shock. The room quieted, Dean's breathing the only thing breaking the silence. His anger was quickly dissipating into shock as well.

Wesson broke the hold and spun Dean out, letting him stumble instead of pushing him to the floor. A second later fifteen guns were trained on him, but the kid just smiled. He gave Dean a small wave and started walking towards the door.

"Nice meeting you, Dean."

The conference room fell silent again as Wesson left. Dean could feel Benny and Castiel staring at him but didn't turn to look. The last time someone had bested him in hand to hand was...never. It just hadn't happened.

"What the fuck."

Benny looked alarmed. "I don't know."

"What the  _fuck_ are we going to  _do?_ "

"I don't  _know._ "

* * *

Gabriel kicked a can outside of Winchester's fancy schmancy warehouse, trailing behind Sam. The rest of their entourage was slow to catch up, most likely jonesing for some more free breakfast.

Gabriel radioed them with a small smirk, guessing that Winchester wouldn't be too happy to see them after this. He chased after Sam, wondering just what he'd said to Winchester in that conference room.

"I thought killing Alastair would be a good gesture," Sam said after a long moment, puppy dog eyes firmly in place. Now that they weren't in immediate danger, Sam had discarded most of his dangerous allure and sex appeal. "He really did fuck with Winchester."

"Hey, the man was a dirty pedo regardless if Winchester's happy or not," Gabriel reminded him. "He got what he deserved, especially since he tried to rush  _us_."

"Yeah, but it was one hell of a way not to make an impression on Winchester's organization." Sam said, joining Gabriel as he searched for more cans to kick. He actually looked dismayed that they'd hadn't made nice. "We should probably leave his property before he actually shoots us."

Gabriel radioed one through his earpiece, speaking briefly. "Did they really pull some on you in there?"

Sam's smirk made a surprise appearance. "Yeah. I asked Dean about Alastair and he just went ballistic. Tried to beat the shit outta me, so I threw him back. Guess he underestimated me?"

Gabriel snorted. "How he did that with your size, I don't understand."

"Get in." was all Sam said as the limo pulled up, sighing. Gabriel hopped in eagerly, the picture-perfect lieutenant Sam was intent on displaying. God, this mob was a joke. "Where are we going next?"

"Meeting with the Elkins estate to take over their laundering business in the East End. Also, lunch. Definitely stopping somewhere nice for lunch."

Sam looked at him in disbelief. "You just had breakfast."

"I'm  _hungry_."

He forced himself to look out the window, avoiding Gabe's stare. "Oh my god."


	2. The Sting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean work around each other. Sort of. Their underlings have different ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Second chapter! Thanks for the reviews and follows guys. Here's a longer one for you.

"Dean. Thanks for speaking with me."

Dean snorted into the phone, spinning in his chair a little bit. His office had been quiet for a good two hours until now. "Luke, what a surprise. Can I help you with something?"

The detective wasn't fazed by his sugary tone. "I'm tracking down two disappearances. Alan and Adam Wesson. Have you heard anything about that?"

"I'm not your informant." Dean said quickly, mood plummeting. "I'm also a businessman who's insulted you would suggest I'd know about such things."

Luke sighed. "Of course not, sir. We're just looking into a person of interest in the case. A man by the name of Samuel Wesson. Seen him lately?"

Dean saw the chance and was about to take it. He opened his mouth, then paused, thinking about his opponent. "You'll see a lot of Wesson in the next few days. Trust me, you won't need to call to find out."

With that he hung up on the detective, wondering why he'd ever given his number out to the man. He'd seemed dirty at the time, maybe someone they could flip, but he remained stubbornly loyal. Dean only wished it was to their cause. The man had some serious instincts.

"Jo?" He pressed a button on the intercom. "Your husband just called!"

"Great. What'd he have to say?" Jo sounded less than enthused, but Dean knew she had a huge soft spot for her husband.

"Asking about Wesson. Trying to get some dirt on him." Dean said, resisting the urge to rub his hands together. "And I'm going to give it to him."

Jo paused, static filling the speaker. "Are you sure that's a great idea? No offense, boss, but your hands are pretty dirty too."

Dean kicked his feet back on the desk, smiling to himself. "Baby, I'm always sure."

* * *

"Everyone here?" Sam queried, looking across the table. A few latecomers were still filing in, so Sam fixed them with a stern smile. Everyone quickly sat, shuffling papers and checking computer screens. "Great. Report, please."

Gabriel was quick to interrupt. "I think we should inform the group of what occurred at Winchester's warehouse. You know, to catch everyone up."

Meg, his other lieutenant, looked interested. She leaned closer to Gabe. "Spillllllllllll. Now."

"Well, to put it bluntly, Sam has a little boy crush." Gabriel said with a huge smile. Sam reached to smack him but the lieutenant ducked at the last second. "On Dean Winchester, none the less."

"But...but we're scheduled to take over Winchester property in two months sir. All operations and racketeering too." Andy said, looking sideways at his twin brother in shock. "It's part of the plan."

"Nix that part," Sam said, still glaring at Gabriel. "I want to make nice at first. Dean Winchester built his organization up from the ground with his own two hands. I want to study him."

"Of course you wanna  _study_ him," Gabriel leered, wiggling his hands. "Nevermind that Sammy here already got into a fistfight with Winchester-which he  _won,_ by the way!"

"So he's not going to be agreeable," Meg surmised, glancing at Gabriel's antics with her usual distaste. "Well, we can keep the business to the older families. Leave Winchester alone for a few months. Unless you think he's going to retaliate?"

Sam had a small, slightly disturbing smile on his face. His entire group shuddered a little in their seats, remembering the last time they'd seen that smile.

"Oh, he's going to retaliate for sure. And I'm going to crush him until he's mine."

"...Ookay, boss man." Gabriel said after a long pause, granting relief to half the table who tried to not tremble visibly. "Why don't we go talk to Elkins and see what he knows about Dean? Maybe there's a gesture of good faith we can do that doesn't devolve into a fistfight this time."

"You think so?" Sam's entire attitude changed, and if he had ears they'd be standing up straight. A hint of his dimples showed, and Gabriel sighed internally. Evil mobster to puppy in three seconds. "Let's do that. Everyone else, battle positions."

Gabriel guided their fearless leader out the door, fixing everyone with a stare that most definitely said  _mention the crush on Dean again and I'll kill you_. "Later, bitches."

* * *

Ruby paced the street corner slowly, digging her stiletto into every crack she saw in the sidewalk. She was dressed, as usual, like the night's entertainment, but that didn't mean she was for sale. Or that she wasn't armed.

Street duty was one of her favorite jobs, even though it was usually given out to Dean's lower ranking soldiers. Ruby liked it because she could see the night begin, and then the sun-no, she liked it because she got to stab people. That was about it.

Tonight, however, she was on a slightly more peaceful mission. After a few more blocks of walking in the heels she turned and leaned against a wall, surveying the street. Everything was quiet on this side of Chicago, a slice of land where Winchester's property bordered what had used to be Rowena's land. Now it was Wesson's.

After a half hour of waiting a woman walked down the street, wearing a similar set of clothes. She circled the corner but made no real moves toward the night's traffic, watching the land with what she must have thought were subtle glances.

Ruby sighed and crossed the empty street, hoping she wasn't about to get shot by the blonde. "Hey, you!"

The blonde raised an eyebrow, looking a little less frightened than Ruby would've liked. "Sorry, I'm waiting for my date-"

"Oh, cut that crap. I know you work for Wesson. I wanna talk shop."

The blonde narrowed her eyes, dropping the innocent look. "You with Winchester?"

"Yeah. Ruby." She put her hand out, the other girl shaking it after a second. "Who're you?"

"Jessica." The blonde said, revealing a pair of pretty brown eyes as she leaned forward. Ruby took the opportunity to look down her shirt, smiling back. "You wanna talk. Why?"

"Foot soldier to foot soldier?" When Jessica nodded, she continued. "I think Sam and Dean need to work together. Dean's smart, but he's street smart. He could run this whole shebang a thousand times quicker with Sam's help."

"And if Sam just wants to work alone?" Jessica countered, glancing at her nails. "If Dean doesn't interest him?"

Ruby smirked. "I heard loverboy took out Alastair to impress Dean. Is that true?"

"Well, he  _was_ attacking our warehouse." Jessica said, twirling a piece of hair as she stared at Ruby. "But yeah. Off the record, we considered it. Sam wants to make a good impression. He likes Dean. Studied him in college or some other bullshit."

"So you think they'd work well together?"

"I think they'd be an empire no one could beat." Jessica said, wonder clear in her eyes. "The only problem is getting them together. Dean tried to beat the shit out of Sam yesterday."

"I'll fix that." Ruby said quickly, already spinning plans in her head. "I just gotta know you're on board, Jessie honey."

"Oh, I'm on board." Jessica said, smiling at her. "I think the better question is when you're off duty, though."

"Would you look at the time. Right now." Ruby said quickly. The other girl just laughed, grabbing her hand and leading her back to Wesson's land.

* * *

Benny climbed the stairs slowly, wary of the rickety way they were swinging back and forth. He could hear the wind whistling outside and wondered why in the hell he'd agreed to this. Dean didn't even know about it. The fact that he actually showed up was still astounding. When had he lost loyalty? Dean was like a brother to him.

But something here had potential. Benny could smell it. It all had to do with Sam Wesson. So, he donned his business man's cap and finished the last flight of stairs, arriving on the roof of the skyscraper he'd spent the last twenty minutes climbing.

Sam Wesson was lying on the ground at the edge of the roof, a large gun in his hands. He was sighting calmly on a target two buildings over, ignoring the wind that was shaking the entire structure. When he heard Benny's footsteps he gestured with one hand, still looking in the periscope.

"Benny. I'm glad you came." Wesson said, polite even though he wasn't facing him. "Any trouble getting up the stairs?"

"No," Benny said quickly, wondering if now was the time to assert his dominance. "You called me here about something important. What is it?"

Sam smiled against the gun, and Benny felt a shiver of fear run down his spine. Wesson was scary, there was no getting around it. "Meet Daryl Kubrick," he said, pointing at his target.

A thousand yards away there was a man on the roof of another building, smoking and talking on the phone. Benny squinted and made out a plaid shirt, but nothing more. "And?"

"And, he's about to finish scamming about 5 million dollars from your laundering business down on 23rd." Sam said calmly, though the words shook Benny. "He's got it all in trust accounts with your soldier Stanley, his brother. They're planning on taking the money soon."

Benny got to his knees, laying down next to Wesson without a thought. "And you're gonna try to shoot him while he's a thousand yards away and it's  _windy_?" It was an impossible shot. Benny knew impossible after serving in the Marines. This was impossible.

"No," Sam said, then took a deep breath in. His eyes fluttered briefly, and he let the breath out. On the second breath he pulled the trigger, never moving an inch. City blocks away, Kubrick fell to the ground, blood flying from a clean headshot.

"Holy shit," Benny said before he could stop himself. " _Holy shit_."

Wesson smiled and sat up, calmly undressing the gun with practiced movements. "I would say you have about five hours before news reaches Stanley and he tries to run with the money. Set up checkpoints and keep an eye on those accounts. He's gonna try to leave town now that his brother's dead."

Benny watched in shock as the other man stood, throwing on an overcoat and placing the gun into a briefcase. "...Why?"

"Why, what?" Wesson was already making his way to the door, like this was all in a day's work. "Why'd I shoot him?"

"Yes."

Wesson looked out over the city. "I'm doing Dean a favor. Make sure he knows about it."

With that, Benny was alone on the roof, wondering how in the hell Sam Wesson even existed. And, on second thought, where he'd gotten that sweet rifle.

* * *

"And he's got no other sketchy accounts," Dean said, dissatisfied. "Look closer! He's hiding something, damn it!"

Chuck just cowered further into his seat, papers wrenched in his hands. "I d-don't know anymore t-than that. H-he's got s-some charitable ac-ccounts, but t-that's it-t."

"Charitable accounts?" Dean asked, barely caring. "How much, and for who?"

Chuck glanced down at the wrinkled papers, hands still trembling. "Mostly v-veteran charities. About t-ten million." He looked closer at the sheets, going even paler. "B-but y-yesterday he d-donated a  _l-lot_ to  _Allcare._ "

"And?" Dean asked, grabbing the papers from Chuck when the man couldn't get a sound out. "What's that?"

Castiel spoke up from across the room. " _Allcare_ is a charity that assists boys who were abused by priests or other authority figures."

Dean glanced at the sheet, his eyes widening at the amount, and then at the inscription. "He donated it in  _my name?_ "

Chuck got so pale he almost passed out. Castiel stood, quickly moving over to start damage control. "I'm sure that's not true-"

At the bottom of the page was a small note. Castiel read it quickly.

_For Dean, who never had the chance to speak up. You are not alone._

_-S.W._

"I'm going to  _kill him_!"

Castiel couldn't help his smile, recognizing the pulling-pigtails that was occurring. "He outmaneuvered you."

" _No one_ gets the jump on me!" Dean was seething, hands flying wildly. "Fine! If I can't get him on his fucking  _pristine_ finances, I'll get him on his business! Get me Luke on the phone now!"

Castiel sighed and went to retrieve his boss's cell phone, grabbing a near-unconscious Chuck by the arm and dragging him out before Dean could ruin the poor accountant any more. Shit was going to hit the fan, and all he could hope was that Wesson would make it out in one piece.

* * *

**Sam's Office**

Gabriel covered the receiver, looking at Sam. "They're asking for a co-opt tonight on the Italians. Do you wanna go?"

Sam blinked, surprised. "That quickly? Sounds...desperate."

"No, I'm still here." Gabriel said to the person on the other line, candy-sweet. He looked at Sam. "It's probably a set-up."

"Probably." Sam thought about it. "I still wanna go."

"Cause you wanna see  _Deaaaaaaan_ -no, sorry, I was just coughing." Gabriel exchanged a few more words with the person on the other line, then hung up. "Alright, we're golden. Forty-fifth and Downer at midnight."

"I love kneecapping the Italians," Sam said vaguely, looking out his window. He was playing with his favorite knife, flipping it in and out of his hand. "They never see it coming. Always deal it out but can't handle it themselves. Shame."

"Okay, then," Gabriel said awkwardly. "We need to get you a boyfriend, kiddo. Get ya out of the house more."

"I want Dean." Sam said plaintively, his voice taking on a whiny tone. "I'm going to get him, even if he sets me up tonight."

"Sure thing," Gabriel said, motioning to Meg. He mouthed  _candy break_ to the other lieutenant, who snorted at him. "When do you wanna load up?"

"I don't know," Sam waved a hand, snapping out of his funk. "Eleven? What's the worst they could set us up for?"

"Jail." Gabriel said immediately. "Short people don't do well there. We're the ones who become bitches first."

"Hmmm." Sam said, unsympathetic. He flipped his knife again, thinking. "We won't end up there. Call up Lillith. I want a sniper up on the nearest building just in case."

Gabriel nodded. "Anything else?"

"Prepare the basement for a guest. I want one of the Italians alive."

"...Sure."

* * *

Dean stood at the edge of the river, coat swirling around his feet. He was wearing boots and about six different weapons, along with a carefully placed wire. It wasn't the cop's, just in case Wesson said something Dean could get in trouble for. He'd bought the recorder himself, and was intent on getting Wesson and his entire organization arrested tonight.

Castiel and Benny stood at his back, one on either side. The latter lieutenant had informed him of Wesson's little show and Kubrick's defection earlier in the car, so he'd sent Azazel out to clean things up. Hopefully the hitman could keep the issue quiet, because tonight definitely wasn't going to be.

Dean ignored the fact that Wesson had been looking out for him and waited impatiently for the other man's entourage to show up. Right on time, seven SUVs pulled up at midnight. They unloaded quickly, for once quiet and orderly.

"Dean," Wesson said, rolling the name around his mouth. He was wearing leather under his coat, like he was some runaway runway model. Dean stared a little longer than necessary at the man's pants, quickly stopping as the skin-tight material reached the man's crotch. Not something he needed to see. "This is a surprise, but a welcome one."

"I figured working together would benefit us all," Dean said between gritted teeth, forcing a smile. "Shall we?"

They were four blocks from the Italians' home base. Their days of Godfathers and intimidation were long behind them, it seemed, because their building (and organization, for that matter) was a mess. There were no sentries to herald their arrival, and Dean just sighed. He'd looked up to the Italian Mafia when he'd started planning his own organization, and to see fallen idols was hard.

Wesson seemed unperturbed, walking silently in that creepy way of his. He had no visible weapons, another ballsy move. Dean looked him over again and wondered how the kid was going to survive on just hand to hand combat. College boy was dumber than he'd thought.

They entered the building first, Dean not even realizing that their collective group had backed off, allowing him and Wesson to spearhead the intrusion. Dean sighed again and shot the first guy he saw, stopping him from shouting with a bullet to the throat. The silencer and gurgling combined didn't make enough sound to alert anyone else to their arrival.

Wesson calmly walked past the dying man and opened another door, finding the stairs to the basement. With a wink at Dean he disappeared down them, silent as ever. Dean grumbled to himself and followed, pointing Benny and Cas towards the rest of the first floor.

Downstairs was a fairly impressive crystal operation. Dean made a note to tip off Luke about it, because even the Italians shouldn't have been dealing this much. Wesson opened a plastic tube and sniffed the contents, recoiling immediately. Very pure, it appeared.

Gunshots sounded upstairs. He and Wesson cleared the basement and vaulted up the stairs, just in time to see Gabriel and Castiel tag team a group of six mafiosos, taking down all of them in less than thirty seconds.

Dean growled, angry that they'd made noise. He turned to Wesson, only to find him leaning against the wall, a proud expression on his face. One of the Italians was jerked off to the door, a bag over his head. Wesson nodded and the man was led towards one of his cars by his other lieutenant, a shorter woman.

"Well, that was fun." Wesson said after a moment. He fixed his group with a stare. "Clean up, guys. Can't leave evidence."

_Hope the wire caught that one_ Dean thought. He gestured at Wesson. "Let's talk outside."

"Sure," Wesson agreed, opening the door for Dean. He brushed against the other man, ignoring the chivalry and hating the intimacy it caused. Wesson smelled good, and that was just wrong.

They walked out towards the river, stopping at its edge. The water was murky and disgusting as usual, but Wesson seemed intent on staring at it. "So, what was the point of that, if I may ask?"

"It was an interview. For future dealings." Dean lied off the top of his head, positioning himself so the wire could pick up anything Wesson might say. "I wanted to know just how dirty you'll get."

"Hmmm." Wesson said noncommittally, the exact opposite of what Dean wanted. "Even after the heads up I gave you this morning?"

_There we go, there we go_ Dean thought. "You wanna elaborate on that, by the way?"

Wesson turned away from the water, something jiggling in his hands. He held it up to Dean, revealing a small box.

"Why? So your wire can catch me?"

Dean froze, eyes fixed on the little box. With his right hand he patted his coat, only to find a loose wire and no memory box. Wesson twirled it in his hands, a smile breaking out across his face.

"I took it from you earlier. Funny to think Dean Winchester would work for the police, huh?" Wesson levelled him with a stare, raising his other hand. In it was a slim Beretta, and where the other man had hid it in that outfit baffled him. "Tell me why you're setting me up."

"Fuck you," Dean growled, not even bothering to mention that the police weren't involved-yet. He dug his hands into his coat pocket, fingering the pistol he had hidden there. "I don't give a shit about your organization, only that it stays out of my way."

Sam shrugged. "And if we don't?"

Dean moved his hand up, not finishing the sentence, and shot at Wesson. Three bullets flew over the man's head, the fourth striking him in the shoulder. Wesson cursed but stood where he was, gun still trained on his chest.

Dean froze as he realized he was out of bullets. Lord, this was a stupid idea. It had been some half-baked plan about the Italians shooting the new up-and-comer but now it was going to end shitty. Damn Wesson's good reflexes.

"You  _shot_ me!" Wesson said, shoulders heaving. Blood covered his collarbone, though it looked like a simple through and through. He raised the Beretta and shot once, apparently extremely offended. "There!"

Dean felt the bullet go through his shoulder and stumbled backwards, crying out. He almost fell into the river, stopped by a strong grip around his wrist. Christ, but that hurt.

He looked up and saw Wesson.

"What the  _fuck,_ Wesson?"

Wesson's eyes narrowed, still supporting Dean. "You fucking  _shot_ me!"

"You shot me too!"

The other man narrowed his eyes. "Well, it was only fair, asshole!"

Dean growled and shoved at Wesson, throwing him off balance. A second later he realized his mistake, the two of them teetering towards the edge of the river. Before he knew it they were falling, still holding each other.

They hit the water with a loud crack, and it was probably one of the worst belly flops Dean had ever had the pleasure of feeling. Wesson landed on top of him, which saved him from most of the pain. Dean opened his mouth to scream, only to get a mouthful of disgusting river water.

" _Shit_ ," he heard above him when they surfaced. " _Shit shit shit, call Gabriel over_."

"What the  _fuck…_ " that was Benny's voice, he knew that one. "Get Castiel. Now."

"Is that  _Dean?_ "

"Sam, are you okay?"

Wesson surfaced next to him, treading water easily even with the shoulder wound. Dean gritted his teeth and pretended to do the same, even though his arm was on fire. Fuck Wesson. Fuck his stupid plan.

"Hold onto me," Wesson said next to him. holding a hand out. "C'mon, Dean. You're gonna drown."

"I hope  _you_ drown," Dean tried to say, but got another mouthful of river water. it came out more like  _I hahp vyoo 'own._

He started to panic when he couldn't keep himself afloat, only to feel himself being hauled over someone's shoulder. He blinked his eyes and found himself laying across Wesson's shoulders as the giant calmly walked them up a ladder at the water's edge.

Then the great Dean Winchester passed out.


	3. Pulp Fiction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean proves that the Winchester name should be feared. The two bosses find themselves in an interesting situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Here's a closer look at BAMF!Dean for you Dean girls :)

Dean blinked awake slowly, acclimating himself to the numbed pain he could feel in his arm. Everything was white when he cracked his eyelids open, and the sun wasn't helping his headache. He fumbled blindly with his other hand, covering his face while his eyes adjusted.

He was in a hospital room, a nice large suite. Looking down, he found a neat bandage covering his shoulder. He moved it experimentally and found it only hurt when he moved it past about 90 degrees. Huh.

Nobody entered the room. It seemed like it was just a few minutes after sunrise. Dean shrugged as much as he could with one shoulder and stumbled out of bed, a little unsteady on his feet. At least whoever had stitched him up gave him a bath and new clothes. He felt strangely naked in the flimsy cotton pants and t shirt. Where were his guns?

His chart backed up all of his guess work. Sixteen stitches, a nice through and through. Wesson had aimed well, it appeared. Dean found himself thinking about the other man and grit his teeth. Wesson. This whole thing was about Wesson. Dean had gone from respected crime boss to struggling to breathe in the Chicago river in less than a week. Now he had a bullet wound to back rumors up, too. Jesus.

A fission of guilt overtook his inner monologue. What if he'd actually hurt Wesson? He hadn't been aiming well, and even though he told himself it was just the situation, there was a part of Dean that knew it was because he didn't really want to hurt Wesson. The man infuriated him, hurt his ego, but Dean didn't want to  _kill_ him. Just scare him a little...

He plopped himself down in the hospital couch, looking out across the grounds from his spectacular view. It  _should_ be spectacular, considering he was paying for it.

Castiel found him like that thirty minutes later, a peace offering of coffee in each hand.

"I see you're feeling better."

Dean grabbed the coffee and inclined his head to his lieutenant. "Much." He took a sip, burning his tongue and chugging regardless. "How's Wesson?"

Castiel looked over his shoulder, like he was checking with someone. "Maybe you'd like to go see him?"

Dean scrunched up his face. "Isn't he awake yet?"

"No. He lost a lot more blood than you. You were lucky. Only took a couple stitches, the doctor said."

He narrowed his eyes at Castiel. "Are you criticizing my aim?"

The blue eyed man, as always, remained unflappable. "Why don't we go see Wesson? I think it's time you two had a talk without anyone else listening in."

It was a jab about the wire and he knew it. When had he gotten this desperate? One mafioso challenges his rule and suddenly he's tripping all over himself to prove the Winchester empire. Maybe diplomacy was the better option.

"Gun?" Dean stood, making his best puppy dog eyes at Castiel. The other man sighed and reached into his waistband, producing a small Smith and Wesson revolver. "Jeez. That must have been hard to smuggle in."

Castiel nodded. "Follow me."

The lieutenant lead them down the hallway, all the way down to the other end of the building. Dean passed a lot of people hooked up to respirators and counted his lucky blessings. Things could have been a lot worse.

Wesson's room was just as bright as his, and Dean immediately moved to close the blinds. It kept him from seeing Wesson's face, anyway. Castiel excused himself and, suddenly, they were alone.

Dean sat at the second-closest chair. Obviously the closest one was reserved for Wessons' sweetheart, and not the man who'd shot him. The kid looked pale under his tan. He had a much larger bandage wrapped around his shoulder and a half dozen different monitors hooked up. He still looked huge, but in a puppy dog kind of way. Unthreatening.

"Well…" Dean said, then flinched as the room echoed his words. "Um, hope you're doing okay."

He settled back into the chair awkwardly, feeling the gun rub against his back. If any of Wesson's people broke in they'd probably shoot him on sight. What the hell was he doing?

"Thanks for...for Alastair." Dean coughed, lowering his voice to just above a whisper. Confessing this to Wesson's unconscious form was actually really uplifting, he decided. All the practice for the real apology without any of the emotional trauma. "I...didn't like him that much. He was a bad guy, but I learned a lot of things from him. So...thanks."

Dean was opening his mouth to apologize for the gunshot wound when he heard footsteps down the hall. A part of him rationalized it away, claiming it was just the nurse; maybe the pain pills were making him loopy. He grabbed his gun anyway, checking the clip with quick movements. The footsteps got louder and heavier. Boots. Who wore boots in a hospital?

Dean crept closer to the door, hiding behind the small window they had for visitors. He pressed his ear against a little cat poster ( _Don't give up!_ it said in little pawprint letters, like he needed the encouragement) and listened. Something metal clinked in the hallway and his stomach plummeted.

" _Quale numero di camera nel suo_?"

They were speaking Italian, which Dean, thankfully, could follow. " _Il dottore ha detto 322._ "

They were looking for Wesson's room. Shit. Of course they were. Dean held his breath, leaning against the doorjamb. One man was coming in and one was standing guard. It didn't seem like anyone else was nearby, and all he could hope was that the nurses stayed away.

" _Quando le infermiere vengono da sparare loro. Non mi interessa_."

Dean sighed as the other man affirmed this, bracing himself. A second later the Italian stepped into the dark room. He had a gun and a small syringe.

Wesson was still unconscious, and Dean thought about leaving for just a second. A small second. Passing by the Italian while he had his back turned and just booking it. Then he remembered that Wesson was the one who'd pulled him out of the river and felt strangely protective. He stepped forward.

" _Non ti muovere_ ," he growled at the Italian, pressing the gun against the man's neck. " _Se parli ti sparero_ , asshole."

The man froze, putting his hands up in the air. Dean felt the man shift before he saw his fist move and ducked. He rolled and kicked the man's legs out from under him, wrestling for the gun as they toppled to the ground.

A second later he was straddling the man and put two bullets through his heart:  _bang, bang._ Well, it was more of a spit, since the men had thought ahead and used silencers.

It was still enough to wake Wesson, who stared at him, sighed, and mumbled briefly before rolling over, asleep. Dean stared at the sleeping man, dumbstruck. He almost missed the second mafioso's bullet, which took out a lamp across the room.  _Not getting the payment back on this room, sorry Sammy…_

Even with the injured shoulder he ducked and rolled again, his bare feet soundless against the tiled floor. He pulled his S&W up and shot the man through the throat, splattering brains onto the ceiling. Dean winced as the man's body toppled onto his shoulder, shoving it outwards before he took the brunt of it. Of course, this preluded more angry Italians rushing in.

Dean stood and shot the first man, then the second. Four more men were behind him and he was starting to run out of bullets. Ten more were behind those four. Undeterred, he grabbed a broken shard from the lamp after he shot the rest of the clip and made it a knife fight. The four remaining men grabbed his arms and legs, and,  _oh,_  they were going to wish they hadn't.

He caught the first guy with a heel to the jaw and actually felt the man's teeth break through his toes. The Italian fell to the floor, holding his mouth as blood and molars tumbled out of it. The three remaining men doubled their efforts but he had a leg free now. He swung it out and grabbed the closest guy's head in between his knee. With a groan and a prayer to the gods who looked over people who didn't stretch before they exercised, he pulled his leg in as close as it would go to his body.

By the time the two other men realized what was happening, their buddy was close to unconscious. Dean, hesitant, pulled the knee even closer to his chest and swung out, bringing his body towards the floor. A sickening  _crunch_ filled the room as his weight fell, and yay! He'd managed that without dislocating his knee this time.

The other men were dealt with fairly quickly, each taking a half dozen shards of glass in each eye before he slit their throats with a clay shard from the lamp's base. It cut his own hand as well, but he figured he was in a hospital and if he was going to bleed, this was the place. The man whose teeth he'd knocked out he kept alive, propping him up against the door and hoping nobody had heard that. Or at least most of it.

"Quanti uomini hai?" Dean growled at the bleeding man, enraged. "Quanti uomini hai? Perché vuoi? Perché vuoi Sam Wesson? You speak English, asshole?"

"A….hit…" the man gurgled and blood fell out of his mouth, dribbling onto his pants. Dean took a disgusted step back before realizing he was probably already covered in the stuff. "Retri...bution…"

For last night. Of course. Dean just hadn't considered the Italian mafia as organized enough to pull off a hit right away. "Quanti uomini hai? How many more fuckers are there?"

"None." The man shuddered as Dean placed the clay shard against his throat. " _None_! I s-swear!"

This, of course, was when Wesson decided to wake up completely.

"...Dean?"

Dean froze, shard still pressed against the man's throat. He turned towards the younger man. "Uh...hey."

"What the-what's going on?" Wesson blinked, looking, in that moment, absurdly like a puppy. His hair was mussed, and his eyes looked cloudy. Nevertheless, the younger man took in the bodies around them with a shocked but slightly appreciating stare. "Looks like-looks like you guys got busy while I was out."

"This is Mario. We just met a few moments ago." Dean shook the Italian, prompting him. "Say  _hi,_ Mario."

The Italian turned a bright shade of red. "My name is  _not-_ "

Dean slit his throat before the man could finish, letting the body slide off him and onto the floor. He stood slowly, appreciating the fact that the floors would clean quickly. Tile was a beautiful thing. Then again, they were used to blood here, weren't they?

"Um…" Dean had spent most of his energy looking macho and killing the intruders. He tried to think about what he was saying before he'd been interrupted.. "I'm, uh, sorry I shot you."

Wesson looked down at the bandage, mouth quirking. "It'll leave a cool scar."

"Still." Dean reached for the words, but couldn't find them. He imagined Castiel saying them and that didn't help at all. "I, uh…"

"Ditto." Wesson said, fixing him with a sunny smile. He was still a little loopy looking, probably because of the drugs. Dean thought the word  _adorable_ and then quickly rescinded it. "I'm sorry I made you look stupid in front of all of your men. I didn't mean to."

Dean nodded at the sincere apology, saving face. He crept closer to the bed, unsure if their new conversation meant he could sit in the closest chair now. Did they need to apologize more than once before that could happen? "I don't wanna fight you."

Wesson raised an eyebrow. "Scared you'll lose?"

"No. I could win. If you were any other person I would…" Dean looked down and shut up real quickly when Gabriel and Cas walked in.

"What the  _fuck._ What the hell just happened in here?"

Castiel's eyes were about to bug out of his head. Both of the lieutenants were looking from the bodies to Dean and back again. He thought he saw some fear in Gabriel's eyes, but it might have just been the light. "Dean, are you-"

"You better watch out," he told Sam haughtily, stepping over a body. Him, having a heartfelt conversation? No. He screwed his face into a frown, even though Sam looked utterly confused. "I'm not playing games anymore."

Dean left quickly after the threat, Castiel trailing after him.

"...sixteen Italians?" Gabriel asked dubiously, counting the bodies. "What the hell just happened?"

"Status report?" Sam asked Gabriel instead, shaking his head slowly.

"Well...you two yahoos fell into the Chicago river. No infections as far as we can tell. Dean's got sixteen stitches and you've got twenty two." Gabriel wiggled his eyebrows at Sam. "Also, all of our collective people are in the cafeteria and won't leave until they see the two of you."

Sam put his head in his hand. "Call Bobby about the bodies, please. And for God's sake don't let any of them up here."

* * *

"You got a problem,  _puta_?"

The drug dealer cowered as Dean stood over him, gun pressed to his forehead. "No, sir. I don't have a problem."

"Then why are you still lying to me? Huh?" Dean circled around him, drawing even more tension, ignoring his men. "I read your ledgers, Francisco. I know you're dealing where you're not supposed to. And you're cheating me on it too."

"I don't  _cheat._ " the Mexican spit, raising his head to stare at Dean. Mistake. "I don't care what you're fucking on-"

Dean pulled the trigger, splattering Francisco's brains onto the wall. The body slumped onto the floor, and Dean carefully stepped back to avoid more blood. "Anyone else wanna speak up?"

The row of Mexican drug dealers in the room was dead silent. Three of them were subtly praying, while the other seven just looked scared. Dean walked up to the only one who wasn't shaking obviously.

" _Como te llamas?_ "

The man replied in a deep voice. "Juan."

"Juan, are you going to cheat me on my cut if I put you in command?"

"No."

"Are you gonna deal crack to little girls like that fuckup, Francisco?"

The man bared his teeth. "Francisco es  _un pinche cavrone_. Shouldn't have been selling that shit to them."

"Good. You're hired." Dean turned to Benny, who stood at the doorway. "Get Juan here the paperwork and let everyone go. We've reached a business agreement, haven't we, boys?"

The men all nodded, faces pale as a sheet. Juan looked determined, and Dean could admire that. He handed the rest of it to his lieutenant and walked away.

Castiel stood next to Ruby in the shadows, talking quietly.

"He's been like this all week?"

The blue-eyed man nodded. "He's reining in business. Pushing hard. I think he's killed more people this week than Sam did."

"I thought he took out Elkins' brother's gang?"

"That was only 200 men." Castiel corrected. "Dean shot more today than Sam did all week."

Ruby whistled. "Why, though?"

"Maybe he thinks it's a competition? I have another job from him tonight that's going to make Sam's organization angry. But Dean wants it that way."

"Love makes people blind," Ruby sighed, rocking back and forth on her heels. "They'd be so cute together."

"Let Dean get his reputation back on his feet, and then maybe we can talk to Wesson."

Ruby smiled. "Deal."

* * *

Sam sat at the desk in his office, listening to the mayor drone on about politics and this one function next week and yada yada yada. He yawned. "No, Mayor, I'm still listening."

Gabriel snuck into his office, not even bothering to close the door. He mouthed  _defcon orange_ at Sam and waved his hands. Sam cut the mayor off and hung up, his heart rate jumping.

"What? What the hell happened, Gabriel?"

The shorter man could barely stop moving. "You're not going to believe this."

"You interrupted my important phone call, it better be good." Sam growled at his lieutenant, standing. "If this is about candy again, so help me God-"

"Dean Winchester stole your Italian."

Sam sat down again, considering this. "The one in the basement?"

"Was there another one?" Gabriel asked innocently.

"Shit." Sam grabbed his knife and twirled it, feeling the stress flow out of him as it cut into his palm, over and over again. "I wanted to talk to that  _figa_  tonight. Why the hell did he have to steal  _my_ Italian? There's a bunch of them out on the fucking street right now!"

Gabriel watched his boss devolve into a whiny three year-old and sighed. "This isn't the worst he's done all week."

"I'm aware." Sam flipped the knife with one hand and pinched the bridge of his nose with the other. "He took out six drug cartels this week. He's not threatening us at all...it's just strange. What is he trying to prove?"

"That he's better than you, obviously."

Sam nodded. "But he is already. I don't even know where I would find six drug cartels. Or how I would deal with them. It's just easier to shoot people."

The younger man put his head on his desk and Gabriel sighed.

"If I might. I have a suggestion."

"Yeah?" Sam poked his head up, surrounded by floppy hair. "About Dean?"

"Ask him to coffee or something. Talk about this. You guys are like the divorced parents of Chicago who never even got married. All the tension and none of the happy memories."

Sam frowned at this. "And what do you expect me to do at 'coffee'?"

"Talk about Chicago, or your mutual likes and dislikes. I dunno. But communication is key here. Soon you're going to step on each others' toes again."

"Sounds about right," Sam thought for a long moment, then nodded. "Call up Castiel and ask him to get Winchester to Lulu's on 32nd tomorrow at nine. That's a great cafe for breakfast."

"Sure. Good plan." Gabriel said, outwardly mildly pleased. On the inside he was counting the pool money he was gonna earn like there was no tomorrow.

* * *

"He wants to  _what_?" Dean rolled over in his bed, ignoring Castiel's presence at his door. What fucking time was it?

"Have coffee, sir."

"I don't drink coffee."

"You're holding some right now, sir." It was on his nightstand, but that was irrelevant.

"It's  _black_ coffee. Everyone knows they don't serve it that way anymore in stupid cafes."

Castiel tried again. "You could have breakfast instead."

"Why does Wesson wanna have breakfast? Dinner is so much classier."

"You should go anyways."

"Why?"

His lieutenant got a strange look in his eyes. "I'm going to knock you out and Benny and I are going to take your lifeless body there if you don't go."

"I could fire you for insubordination." Dean said.

"You don't pay me, sir."

"...shit."

Castiel perked up. "You'll go, then?"

"Make it brunch." Dean groaned and buried his face in the pillows. "Breakfast is too early."

* * *

Lulu's was a nice diner over on 32nd that Dean had been to a couple times before. The place was retro, but in a good way. The food was delicious, so if things went south with Wesson he could at least have a good meal before he had to start shooting things.

"Dean,"

Wesson was standing at the entrance, dressed in a cashmere sweater and a scarf. He waved slightly, beckoning him over with one hand. The other arm was still trapped in a sling. "I got us a table inside."

Dean narrowed his eyes at the injury and followed. He'd only had a sling for about two weeks before he'd thrown the fucker out. His doctor tried to warn him about loss of freedom of motion, so Dean showed him the freedom of motion of his fist and things settled down. He also got better painkillers, which was a nice benefit.

"So, um, how've you been?"

Sam smiled expectantly at them as they sat down, the diner bustling around them. Dean took off his coat and sat opposite the other man. He got stuck for a second looking at the way Sam's hair fell around his face and blinked. It looked strangely soft. "I've been busy. Lot's of people to talk to."

"I've heard." Sam said, nodding. "I also heard you're starting a nightclub. That sounds...interesting."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "It's mine. Don't get any ideas, Wesson."

"I was being polite," Sam said, frowning at him. "And yes, I actually think nightclubs are cool. What are you naming it?"

" _Heaven_."

"What's your menu gonna be like?"

Dean shifted slightly. "It has food on it."

"That's a good start. Here why don't you look here." Sam leaned forward, putting a hand on Dean's wrist as he showed him the Lulu's menu. "See-"

Suddenly they were talking and Dean couldn't stop staring at Sam's hand. Sam was smart and funny, not to mention alluring. He couldn't stop staring at the other man as he explained menus (which he already knew about, thanks) and business models (which he hadn't considered, nice) and then they were talking about sports over pancakes.  _Sports._ And Sam was still touching him every few seconds.

"I think Bears fans  _can_ sit somewhat close to Packers fans." Dean said, tapping the table. "We're civilized people, and so are they."

Sam made a face. "Yeah, but they suck."

"Amen, brother." Dean smiled at Sam, checking his watch. Jesus, it was almost two. Where the hell had the time gone? He'd only planned on giving Wesson an hour, maybe half of one. But he was... _enjoying_ himself? With a rival?

"So, what's this meeting about?" Dean asked finally, putting his napkin down. Sam shrugged.

"I wanted to get to know you." the younger man said honestly. "Gabriel said, quote unquote, 'You guys are like the divorced parents of Chicago who never even got married. All the tension and none of the happy memories.'"

Dean snorted. "That makes  _you_ the bitch in this relationship, Sammy."

"Jerk." Sam looked affronted, but he smiled to let Dean know he was kidding. "I wanted to ask you something-"

A low gasp rolled over the other brunch-goers. Dean and Sam turned in sync, both of them subtly checking their guns. Two men were standing up on the front table, waving guns around.

"Alright, everyone be cool! This is a robbery!"

Sam looked at Dean. "...Shit."

"Fuck."


	4. The Thin Line (Between Love and Crime)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean are model citizens. No one can agree who tops in bed. Gordon Walker is a nuisance, but what else is new?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N If you're my mother and would be horrified by the sex scene below, skip the part after Sam and Dean get into the car. Otherwise, please enjoy the longer chapter! More will probably be up next week...

"You got eyes on Wesson?"

Ruby shushed Benny, leaning in with her binoculars. "Not if you keep yelling, I don't."

"Me talking has nothing to do with your eyesight."

Castiel sighed, shifting slightly in the tree. There was just  _not_ enough space for three people, no matter how big the branches were. "Do you want to get caught by our boss?"

"He's not going to catch us. He's too busy staring at Wesson." Benny leaned closer, plastered to the tree so he wouldn't fall. "Wait, I just saw him. They're meeting up."

"Omigod, he touched his hand," Ruby squealed from behind her binoculars. "He touched his hand, I repeat. Wesson and the boss are making bodily contact."

Castiel spotted something shiny in Ruby's ear, running down to her sleeve. "Is that...is that a microphone?"

Ruby sniffed, eyes still trained on Wesson. "Nooooooooo..."

"It  _is_." Castiel moved forward, only to get a stiletto spike lightly pressed his adam's apple. " _Ruby_."

"I've got operatives on the ground, boss man. I need to communicate with them." Ruby turned to frown at him briefly before returning to the binoculars. "Oh shit, Dean's smiling. When was the last time he did that without stabbing someone, huh?"

Benny nodded along with this. "It's safer this way."

 _Why are we doing this again?_  Castiel asked himself, shifting in the tree. How Ruby was doing this in heels astounded him.

Ruby and Benny whispered excitedly among themselves for a few minutes, something about OTPs (was that a brand name or something?) and fate. Ruby almost fell out of her branch when Wesson touched Dean's shoulder, ostensibly to remove a piece of string.

Benny wasn't any help either. According to the other lieutenant, who Castiel had always regarded as a levelheaded man, that gesture meant the two of them were practically married.  _Married._

While Castiel couldn't make any statements on how predestined their romance was, it seemed like Sam and Dean were pretty good complements personality wise. He wouldn't mind seeing them as a pairing, either one of romantic intent or just business.

"Shit. Shit, shit shit shit..." Ruby started shifting in her spot, alarmed. "Benny, look down by the entrance. See those two dipshits in the sweaters?"

Castiel leaned forward and looked as well. He spotted the two men and knew immediately that they were carrying guns. A second later, the men shrugged the weapons out their waistbands and started shouting at the diners.

" _Alright, everyone cool! This is a robbery!_ "

Sam and Dean looked at each other. Castiel could see through the window and knew Dean, at the very least, was armed. Sam's lethality he didn't doubt, but Dean was bound to get angry. Or defensive. Or protective. In short terms, unpredictable.

"What do we do?" Ruby was asking, frantic. "Do we go down there? Do we shoot them?"

"Hey, asswipes!"

Castiel looked down a good forty feet and found Sam's lieutenants standing at the base of the pine tree. The shorter man and the scary-looking woman were staring at him. "...Yes?"

"You got a good view? I wanna see Sam take someone's head off somewhere  _decent_." The man said.  _Gabriel_ , Castiel reminded himself. The pair took matters into their own hands and started climbing. "Things are just about to get good."

Ruby and Benny shifted over obligingly, though the woman still looked worried. "You don't think they'll need help?"

Dean and Sam stood fluidly, creepily in sync. Castiel shuddered as he saw the expressions on their faces. "No, I don't think so at all."

* * *

 

The two men quickly circled the small diner, guns pointed at the customers. They held them sideways like some big-wig gangsters, and Dean snorted when one of the robbers shoved the gun into a grandma's face that way. Old lady could probably take the idiot out if he got close enough.

Sam was most likely thinking the same thing, because he rolled his eyes as the two men went around the room. They traded a glance and stood as one, splitting apart to draw interest, Sam on the left and Dean on the right.

"Where the  _fuck_ do you think you're going, grandpa?" one of the robbers yelled at him immediately, turning to shove his ill-held Colt into Dean's face. "Sit the  _fuck_ down!"

Dean raised his hands. "Just wanna take a whiz, man. Don't wanna start nothing."

"Sit down." The man directed his partner towards Sam, obviously a little smarter than they'd thought. "Get your boy to sit down too. Nobody fucking move, or I start shooting!"

Sam rolled his eyes behind the man's back and shuffled back to Dean. It wasn't like they couldn't leave. It just meant less innocent people would die. They sat down at their original table, staring at each other.

"Why do I feel like we just fell into a Quentin Tarantino movie?" Dean asked Sam. "He's not going to get anything out of the register. Everyone here's paying with a card."

Sam rolled his eyes again. "Maybe he watched  _Pulp Fiction_ and thought he'd make some quick cash. What do you wanna do?"

"That guy asks me for my wallet, I'm shooting him." Dean said stiffly, glaring at the robbers. They dropped into whispers as the head guy stared at them. "I'm not playing nice."

"Well, as I see it we have three options. A, Shoot the guys, B, play nice with the guys and then shoot them when they leave, or C, do nothing."

Dean thought this over. "Can I amend plan B? Let's intimidate them and then shoot them."

"I like that." Sam agreed, and they planned quickly between them. By the time the head honcho came over to yell at them they'd already figured things out.

"Hey, what the fuck are you two idiots talking about? You wanna get your rentboy shot, old man?"

Dean froze, his face going expressionless. Sam snickered next to him, knowing where this was going. A gun appeared in Winchester's hand, lightning-fast, and a second later the man was on the floor minus one kneecap.

Sam laughed even though the blood splattered across his face, taking out the other robber a second later with a clean shot to the head. His other arm was still in the sling, though it didn't seem to deter him in any way.

Surprised diners screamed and threw themselves away from the body, but they couldn't avoid the blood. Sam turned his attention back to Dean and the head honcho, enjoying the screams of pain coming from the would-be robber.

Dean straddled the man roughly, shoving something leather into the robber's face. "It doesn't say bad motherfucker on it, but you know what else it says? Huh? Read it!"

"I-wha-" the man was crying, and all Sam could hope was that he didn't pee his pants while Dean was sitting on him. That would be shitty. Dean didn't seem to be worried, and continued to shove his ID into the man's face. The kid gasped out the name. "Dean Win- _Winchester._ "

Sam laughed again as the kid's face drained of blood. The robber looked up at Dean, terrified, and looked over to him for help. Sam waved  _hello_ and leaned back into his seat. The kid turned to begging when he saw Sam wasn't going to help.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Winchester. I didn't know you were-Please don't kill me!"

The robber tried to wiggle out from under Dean, only to scream as his tattered remnants of a knee wouldn't budge. " _Have mercy_!"

"Jesus Christ," Dean muttered under his breath. "You ruined my date. Of course I'm going to fucking kill you."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "This was a date?"

"Why else would two big bosses sit down and  _not_ talk business?" Dean rebutted, quirking a tentative smile. "...unless you're not down with it."

Sam uncrossed his legs, licking his lips. "Oh, I'm down."

"Great." Dean turned his attention back to the robber, giddy. "I'm going to shoot you now," he told the kid.

"Wait. Dean." Sam had a sudden thought, ignoring the throngs of terrified people around them. "Let him go."

Dean frowned but didn't budge. "That was a quick change of heart."

"He's gonna regret throwing us together in a few years," Sam clarified. He stood and crouched next to Dean, lips grazing his neck. "We're gonna rule the world, and it's all his fault. I want him to remember that."

"S-sure." Dean said, heart thudding as Sam's lips found his pulse. "Can I shoot him in a few years?"

"...You know what? Fine." Sam tugged at his sleeve, pulling him towards the door. "Let's get out of here."

Dean fixed the robber with his best glare and followed Sam, tucking his gun into his pants, firmly ignoring the other throbbing thing there.

* * *

 

Gabriel actually was dumbstruck. Physically dumbstruck. He couldn't form words to express this emotion, but Ruby seemed to be doing fine for both of them.

"Holy shit. Holy  _shit._ Wesson just made out with Dean's neck.  _Dean's neck_!"

Castiel seemed to be questioning his life choices on the other branch, head in hands. "I can't believe they just did that."

"The making out or the shooting?" Benny asked, though he looked a little pale and unsure himself. "I'm used to Dean shooting people, but how in the hell are we gonna explain that?"

"Oh...my God," Gabriel seemed to have finally gotten his voice back, praying in vain to the brain bleach gods. "He... _licked_ his neck."

All of them paused to watch the pair of bosses leave the diner, hopping into Dean's Chevy with none too little haste. Dean was missing his tie and Sam was down three buttons. How that had happened in the span of seven feet baffled all of the spies.

"There's a camera in Dean's car, right?" Benny asked Ruby out of the corner of his mouth. The woman smacked him but seemed to consider it.

Castiel went white. "No. Noooo. That's too far. "

"I got a TV in the van," Gabriel offered, already climbing out of the tree with Meg. Ruby and Benny followed. "Let's go hook it up."

* * *

 

Sam bumped his head on something sharp as he got into Dean's car. The small cut made him wince, which Dean immediately noticed.

"You found the camera," Dean reversed out of their spot with one hand, the other parting Sam's hair to see the cut. Inexplicably, they managed to get on the road without running anyone over. "Shit. It's bleeding."

"Am I supposed to be reassured that you care more about my scalp than the camera you have in your car?" Sam, to his credit, looked at ease. Dean chuckled, cuffing the younger man across the head.

"Ruby and Benny thought they were being sneaky when they installed it a few months ago." Dean scoffed. "Like I don't look over my Baby every day. I looped the transmission."

"Smart. A '67, right?" Sam smiled as Dean nodded. "Beautiful car."

"Thank you." Dean said, taking the small street at close to sixty miles an hour. "Your place or mine?"

Sam looked behind him, inherently suspicious. "Depends. Can you lose our people first?"

Dean glanced in the rearview and pursed his lips. "Do bears shit in the woods?"

He spun the wheel, taking a hard left that had the car up on two wheels. Sam smiled, breathless.

"Your place then."

* * *

 

"The camera's not working," Ruby said, hitting a couple buttons. Gabriel tried to assist her, but she batted his hands away. "I  _know_ he's in the car. Why can't I see it?"

Castiel peered at the small screen, wincing as Gabriel spun them around the corner, chasing Winchester. "He must have looped the camera's output."

A collective groan filled the truck.

* * *

 

Sam raised an eyebrow as they pulled into one of Winchester's warehouse properties but didn't say anything. Dean noticed the look.

"My office is out front and I have personal rooms in the back. Safer than traveling between two places every day, right?"

Sam smiled. "Can't wait to see inside."

They parked in a cool hidden below-ground garage. Dean pulled Sam towards the elevator, careful of his sling, nipping at his throat as they waited.

Dean completely ignored his office and brought Sam into his bedroom. A second later the younger man was flat on the bed, a shout escaping his lips.

"Hey!" Sam didn't look pained, just surprised. "What was that for?"

"You. Drive. Me.  _Insane_." Dean growled at the younger man, climbing up on the bed to straddle his hips. He could feel Sam's dick through the thin dress pants and fluttered a hand over it. "Don't move."

"Dean-"

Dean pulled his tie out with a single tug and forced it between Sam's pink lips. He tied it carefully and tightened it, loving the look of helplessness in Sam's face. "That's better. Sometimes you just keep  _talking_ , college boy. Gotta listen to your elders every now and then."

Sam gave him a look that clearly said  _oh really?_  Dean winked and started taking Sam's pants off with his teeth, loving how Sam's abs brushed his nose. He pulled the zipper down and laughed to himself as Sam shivered, rocking the bed.

"I thought I told you to stop moving?" Dean growled, glaring. Sam fixed him with another playful look that  _did_ things to Dean. Before he knew it he was off the bed and opening a box he hadn't used in years. Out came two real pairs of handcuffs, no padding or extra safety keys.

Before Sam could protest he had one on each slim wrist, attaching them to the bedposts. He saved a quick thought for the younger man's shoulder, but it didn't seem to be bothering him. Sam squirmed as the restraints were fastened, begging for some contact.

"Needy little bitch, aren't you?" Dean got back on the bed and just took Sam's pants off by hand. "Don't worry, I won't tell your men."

He lost his pants then too. Sam's shirt came off a minute later, Dean straddling the taller man, their mouths clashing at the strange angle. Dean saw the muscles pulled taut underneath him and groaned. God, one day he was taking the afternoon off and devoting it all to that back. Christ, but he wanted to sink his teeth into it.

"You like that? You like someone on top of you like that?" Dean rocked back and forth on top him, both of them hard enough to cut diamonds. Sam moaned, deep in his throat. "You're such a slut, Sammy, I love it."

Sam kissed him then, all passion and teeth clashing. Dean felt something move and didn't process it. A moment later he was in his back and-how?

Sam sat in his lap, grinding against him slowly. The cuffs lay on the bedposts, unlocked. Dean stared at them, too stimulated to be shocked or even angry for that matter.

"You think you're so tough," Sam whispered after spitting the gag free. "I had you tripping over yourself in  _days_. You play dominant out there, but I know what you really want."

"Oh?" Dean whisked a brow, groaning as Sam nosed his way down to his crotch. A warm mouth enveloped him a second later, startling him. "Oh-Jesus-"

He began to rock up into the heat, feeling muscles tensing in his chest. Just when things were getting good, Sam pulled off. Dean felt a spit-soaked finger, then two, and tensed immediately.

"Easy," Sam said, easing another finger in a minute later. A moment after that he ran a hand through Dean's hair. "You can top the second round. Deal?"

Dean opened his mouth to respond and groaned as Sam pushed into him, feeling his whole body light up. The man was huge, already thrusting in him with long, powerful strokes. Dean opened his mouth again to try and form words but couldn't. Jesus. Sam Wesson's dick made him brain dead, apparently.

He let out a shout as something flared to life inside of him, begging Sam to hit that spot again. The taller man changed his angle and drove down, heavy rolling thrusts drawing groan after groan out of him.

He came with a scream that definitely wasn't a mangled version of Sam's name. The man in question reached climax a moment later, tensing and spilling into Dean, shuddering.

Dean gave him a B plus for dirty talk, C for foreplay (those handcuffs were a great idea, shut up) and an A plus for effort.

Sam rolled off him and Dean took the opportunity to reclaim his starting position across the man's hips. The kid smiled, eyes lazy with lust. He looked disheveled and perfect. He raised an eyebrow as Dean started riding him.

"Already?"

Dean smirked.

"Get ready for round two, bitch."

* * *

 

"Do we have cameras in Dean's rooms?"

Castiel smacked Ruby's arm. "No. And we're officially  _done_ spying on our bosses. I don't want to see what they do in the bedroom."

"It's probably hella kinky," Ruby said, contemplative. She looked at Benny. "Which one of them tops? Is it Sam or Dean? I'm having trouble here."

"They're probably arguing as we speak," Gabriel said, leaning back in the small chair the TV van had. "I'm putting forty on Sam first, though."

"Hell no. My boy Dean's hitting that. Sixty on Dean." Benny said, drawing a fistbump from Ruby. "What about you, Cas?"

Castiel just sighed.

* * *

 

Dean sat as his desk, reading the morning's paper. He was freshly washed and loose-limbed from the previous night. Black coffee sat at his right, a stack of the local newspapers at his left. His radio was playing soft classic rock. He felt more like a mafioso than he'd been in weeks.

Jo's voice split the morning's mood, layered over the crash of a door.

"Dean, I'm sorry, I couldn't stop him-"

Gordon Walker forced himself past the receptionist, literally pushing the shorter blonde out of his way. "Dean. We need to talk."

Dean raised an eyebrow at the intrusion, not moving from his coffee and newspaper. "Jo, I'll take care of this."

It wasn't an invitation to sit, or really even an acknowledgement of Gordon's presence, but the man sat himself down in one of Dean's chairs anyway. Dean studiously ignored the older mobster, glancing through the sports section.

"Dean. We need to talk about Wesson."

"Which one?" Dean turned into the advice section, not caring if Gordon saw.

"Samuel Wesson. Tell me you haven't been seeing what he's doing to this city? He's rocking the  _boat_."

Dean frowned at the strange mirroring of his own words, but didn't look up. "How so?"

"He took out Rowena, Roman, Elkins and a half dozen other families in the past month. He  _decimated_ them, Dean!"

"Hmmm." Dean read about an obese housewife who was worried about the lack of sex with her husband. "Has he made a move towards your turf?"

"...No, but he's dangerous." Gordon leaned forward, putting his hands on Dean's desk. "He's taking over this goddamned city, and you know we're next. We gotta put up a resistance."

Dean finally finished the newspaper, flipping it over his shoulder and grabbing the next one. He paused before opening it. "What are you suggesting, Gordon?"

"I want to form an alliance. You and me against Wesson. He can't stand against us."

Dean tilted his head, considering this. "And if he doesn't make a move on us?"

"He's still dangerous, Dean. Your organization's gonna be the first thing under his boot." Gordon looked at him, gaze intense. "I thought you had more goddamned sense than this."

Footsteps sounded from behind his desk. Dean flipped open his next newspaper as the door to his private rooms opened, revealing a half-naked, dripping-wet Sam Wesson.

"Whoa," Sam said, walking into the office. His chest was even more delicious looking in the morning light. The gunshot wound on his shoulder stood out like a badge. He was wearing a pair of jeans and nothing else. Dean made a note to have lots of quality time with Sam after Gordon left.

"I didn't realize you had company, babe."

Dean leaned upwards, getting a sound kiss from Sam as the other man grabbed Dean's tie, twisting their faces together. Gordon was absolutely silent from where he was sitting, hands still frozen on Dean's desk.

"It's fine. Gordon was just leaving. Weren't you, Gordon?"

He flicked a glance up from his paper, finding a seething mob boss staring straight at him. It didn't ruffle him in the least. Gordon hadn't grown up under Alastair. That man could do withering stares.

"Sleeping with the enemy, Dean," Gordon finally managed between gritted teeth. A vein pulsed at his temple. "I didn't think you would... _degrade_ yourself like this. Not the great Dean Winchester I know."

"And I didn't think the great Gordon Walker would barge into my office, abuse my secretary and insult my partner but-oh wait." Dean looked up, smiling at Gordon. "You  _are_ enough of a dick to do all of those things, Gordon. Get the hell out of my office."

"If you're sleeping with Wesson, ask him about Alan," Gordon hissed, standing and pointing. "Why'd you stab your own father in the back, traitor?"

Sam pulled up a chair, sliding next to Dean to read over his shoulder. Both of them ignored the boss. Dean's curiosity was piqued, but neither of them rose to the bait.

Gordon stormed out with a muttered litany of curses a moment later, slamming the door behind him. The two bosses read for a few minutes, just to make sure he'd left.

"He's going to be trouble in a couple of days." Sam said, perceptive as ever. He turned to face Dean, hair still wet from his shower. "Want me to take care of things?"

"I thought you weren't going after Walker's land?" Dean twisted Gordon's words over and over again in his head.

The other man scrunched his nose. "Just offering. I wasn't going to take it. He'd probably bitch about it too much."

"His resources  _are_ flagging." Dean agreed. He threw the newspaper onto the desk, leaning into Sam. "Was he...Do I need to worry about how Alan died, Sam?"

The younger man ducked his head, eyes growing dark. "It's...personal."

"C'mon. If this is gonna work, you gotta talk to me." Dean tapped Sam's good shoulder, leading him back to the bedroom. "My people called it a coup. Is that what happened?"

Sam pursed his lips but let himself be led. "I don't wanna talk about it."

"You really do," Dean said, placing his lover on the bed and rummaging in his nightstand. He made a triumphant noise and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniel's. "Shot for a secret?"

"What are you, a sixteen year-old at a slumber party?" Sam looked at the alcohol dubiously. Dean's smile didn't waver. "It's nine in the morning, Dean."

"Hey, it's four o'clock somewhere," Dean gave Sam the bottle along with the cheesy line. "I'll tell you anything. Shop secrets, fantasies. You name it."

Sam looked curious at least. Dean knew the younger man had studied him in college, or so Ruby had told him. Maybe the kid had questions. "...Fine. But if I don't like it, we stop."

"Can't believe you need a safe word after last night," Dean said humorously, watching Sam take the first shot. "Alright, I'm an open book."

"Okay...who was the first person you killed?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "That's a nice, light topic to start on."

"Did I say killed? I meant kissed." Sam blushed slightly, cheeks coloring. "Who's the first person you kissed?"

"Gloria Stevens. Third grade." Dean grabbed the bottle, taking a shot. "She kissed me first and then I tackled her. And kissed her again."

"Not a lot's changed then, huh?" Sam said, trading a heated glance with Dean. The other man cleared his throat, thinking of a question to start them off slow.

"How'd you learn to be such a badass if you were in college?"

Sam looked surprised. "Did you go to college?"

"Not all of us were so privileged." The words came out harsher than he intended, but Sam seemed to take them in stride. "But seriously. They didn't teach you how to shoot a gun in college. Or how to fight."

"My dad taught me. Trained me n' Aidan since we were little so we could take over." Sam looked bitter about this, and took an extra shot before Dean could stop him. "Once I ran away to college he disowned me from the family business. Had Aidan in line to take over."

"He disowned you 'cause you wanted to go to  _college_?" Dean asked, dubious. He took a shot of his own. "Gah. I think we missed your question."

Sam blinked at the task of forming a coherent question. "Uh. Did you enjoy yourself last night?"

"You have to ask?" Dean winked at Sam, kicking off his shoes. He pushed both of them closer to the headboard, leaning against the younger man. "Fine. I did. A lot. My turn."

"Ask away."

"Why'd you kill your dad?"

Sam's eyes were glassy, so they were most likely drunk enough for the question. "He was beating my mom."

"...Shit. That fucker." Dean swore. "Fucking Alan."

The younger man nodded. "I came home from college to check up on her when I found her dead. They told everyone it was  _cancer._ Cancer."

Dean saw the bloodthirsty look in Sam's eyes and felt the same way. That Alan had used cancer as an excuse was disgusting. "He killed her?"

"Threw her down a flight of stairs like a bag of trash," Sam muttered, looking at the ceiling. "Aidan helped. So I grabbed that stupid gun he always  _insisted_ I carry with me and shot them both."

Dean took another swig and offered the bottle to Sam. "And all his people just fell in? Like that?"

"I had to kill a couple lieutenants, but that was it. Everyone was pretty sick and tired of Alan's bullshit by then too. The End. Happy story." Sam shook the bottle, hiccuping. "This is getting kinda empty. Was it full?"

"I dunno." Dean said dumbly. "Got any pressing questions before we pass out?"

Sam swallowed a little more for show, throwing his head back and showing off the smooth column of his throat. He grinned and wiped his lips. "Are you happy Alastair's dead?"

"Yes." Dean said immediately, honest. "Yes, I really am."

Sam threw his arms around Dean, leaning them back into the pillows, legs slotting in between his. "Looks like we've both got our shit together, then."

Dean grinned, twisting against the younger man.

"Amen."

* * *

 

Ruby followed Benny and Cas into Dean's office, unsurprised it was empty. Gabriel and Meg stood in the doorway but came in when Ruby rolled her eyes at the formality. Like they weren't all extended family now by some weird proxy.

"Dean?" Castiel called into the man's private rooms.

"In here!"

Their little troupe walked into the bedroom and immediately cringed. Gabriel shut his eyes. Meg leaned closer. Benny coughed and Ruby licked her lips as they spotted the couple, covered in nothing but a sheet.

"What do you want?" Dean didn't sound as pissed off as usual, though if it was the sex or the bottle of jack she saw hanging off the bed was unknown. "We're...busy."

This set off a fit of giggles from Sam, like it was some private joke. Ruby swore she saw Castiel roll his eyes. Might have been the light.

"This is important, Dean. I need you sober and listening."

Dean propped himself up on Sam's chest, looking like he was at least making an effort. "What happened?"

"Gordon just declared war on the Wesson and Winchester empires thirty minutes ago." Gabriel said, voice grave. Everyone in the room felt the reality of the words. Castiel passed Dean a physical copy of the notice.

"Well," Dean turned to his lover after he'd read it, crumpling the note with one fist. "What are we gonna do?"

Sam gave a bone chilling smile.

"Smash him like a bug, of course."


	5. One Night in Bangkok

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean throw a party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Here's another chapter! Thanks for all the great comments.
> 
> Minor trigger warning for references to sexual assault below, nothing serious. Look for another chapter this week!

Luke was enjoying a nice cup of coffee on the balcony, grateful as ever that the academy had arranged one for the smokers in the clink after the law had gone through. It smelled like ash after about eleven a.m., but if he got there early enough he could usually catch a fresh breeze.

A half mile away was the river, and sure enough a cool wind was blowing off it today. He took another sip and leaned against the railing, pondering the fact that he had no current cases. None. The child abuser on 37th? In jail, awaiting trial. Drug dealer who'd killed his sister and her two year-old child? Dead in a police shootout.

It wasn't like there weren't any cases-God knows with Chicago's murder rate he was bound to get something any minute-but the sudden peace begged to be exploited. So Luke drank his coffee unhurried for the first time in months, and watched the sun rise.

"Luke," Hannah opened the creaky screen porch door, entering the porch area. Luke sighed immediately. "The hell are you doing out here?"

Luke held his hand out instead, and sure enough Hannah dropped a sturdy file into it. He set his coffee down and debated just throwing the thing off the porch, and watching it scatter into the river.

But not when an innocent life was at stake. Luke protected people, and losing them was unacceptable.

"We had a shootout yesterday at Lulu's-you know, that little diner on-" Luke waved his hand, cutting her off. Everyone with a decent stomach knew about Lulu's. "Two robbers went in Pulp Fiction style. One died, the other got his knee blown off. Apparently two guys had guns and took them out."

Luke didn't even look at the paper. "So? We have a couple Good Samaritans who like the second amendment. Close the case."

"Look at the  _names_ , Milton."

He glanced down at the file and wearily opened it to the first page. There was a security camera still paper clipped to the folder. "Is that who I think it is?"

"Sam Wesson and Dean Winchester, head crime bosses of respective organizations. Wesson is currently under scrutiny for his father and brother's deaths last month. Winchester-well, he's always on our watch list."

Luke was silent.

"What are we gonna do, then?" Hannah asked, calm as ever. Luke fumed and finally gave into the urge to light a cigarette, ruining the morning breeze.

"I don't goddamned know." He flicked his lighter once, cupping a hand to shield it from the wind. "But if they ruin my city I'm gonna make them pay."

Hannah's doubting face didn't help that conviction.

* * *

Gabriel and Castiel sat at one of Winchester's conference tables, two cups and a pot of coffee between them. Chuck was quietly crunching numbers a few chairs down, hunched over his computer and refusing to talk until he finished. Apparently he had a special job from the bosses, though it seemed like the only order the two had given in the last day.

Sam and Dean had spent the last six hours up in Dean's bedroom, though if they were talking or fucking each other's brains out was debatable. Castiel hoped it was the former, because war with Gordon was no joke. War meant preparations and more footwork, and it meant everyone was on high alert until things settled down.

Gabriel, Sam's lieutenant, seemed to be taking things in stride. While he hadn't lost his usual aura of childish humor, his words and tone grew more serious as the day progressed. They were planning for war, after all.

Between the two of them, they managed to plan and supply for a half dozen different scenarios while Meg and Benny headed recon. However, Gordon had made no moves, besides announcing the declaration. No one had seen hide or tail of him either.

Castiel and Gabriel had both ordered their respective satellite organizations to shelter and proceed with limited visibility, but that didn't mean they weren't going to get shot up or firebombed one of these nights. Gordon was a mean old bastard, in the words of Dean, and his organization did nothing in halves.

Gabriel worried about Sam. Castiel did too. If Gordon wanted to take out all that was dear to Dean, it could be chalked up to his people and organization, his car, and his lover. All three were things Gordon could, and theoretically would, take. And spoils didn't change hands without blood.

"...Alright." Chuck said after another half hour, raising a sweaty head from his work. "I've got it. What Sam and Dean want, I've got the numbers."

"You don't think they actually planned something?" Gabriel asked dubiously, rising from his spot. Castiel shrugged.

"Sam is well-known for his battle plans. Dean is someone I've worked under for years, and he's the most brilliant commander I've ever seen."

It wasn't false praise. Castiel wondered how different things would be if they'd lived in the times of great generals and conquerors. Dean would have been the best of them all, it seemed. Unless he let things get personal.

"Agreed-" Gabriel nodded, leaning to stretch his back. He rattled Chuck's chair by accident, causing the older man to squeak in terror. "-shit, sorry. So you think they have a plan?"

Castiel inclined his head. "Dean always does."

"And so does Sam," Gabriel rubbed his palms together, glancing at the ceiling. Chuck nodded slightly. "I think it's time we paid our bosses a visit. As their war counsel."

Castiel glanced at the ceiling, worried he'd see the walls shaking slightly. "Fine. But we're knocking first."

* * *

Sam lay across Dean's California king, enamored with the soft sheets. Dean was finishing up in the bathroom after their last round of sex, drying himself off with some of the fluffiest towels Sam had ever seen. He made a mental note to try and move in as quickly as possible, because Alan's old digs were nothing to be proud of. Gabriel had already hired renovators, but those things took time. And Sam was an envious man when it came to thousand-count sheets.

"I hear someone coming," he informed Dean, glancing down long enough to make sure he was at least partially dressed. "Five bucks says it's Cas and Gabe, asking what our plans are."

Dean fixed him with a look in the bathroom mirror. "Duh."

Sure enough, Castiel knocked politely on the doorjamb a moment later. "Samuel. Dean. Is now a good time to have war counsel?"

Sam was in boxers. Dean had no clothes on, save for a towel. The older man sighed and looked at his lieutenant, while Sam traded a glance with Gabriel. "Does it look like I'm ready?"

"...No." Castiel said after a moment, two points of color high in his cheeks as he tried not to ogle Sam. "But we must discuss Gordon soon, and I fear it comes before...trivialities."

Sam raised an eyebrow, mouthing to Gabriel  _did he just call me trivial?_  Dean barked a laugh at that, moving to lean against the windowsill in the far corner of the room.

"Sam and I have already figured things out. You and Gabriel can leave. We'll send your orders this evening."

Castiel went pale. "And what have you planned?"

"Exactly what Sam said," Dean replied, a smirk dancing around the corners of his mouth. "We're going to squash Gordy like the little bug he is."

"Er… _how,_ sir?"

It was then that Sam broke into laughter, collapsing to the bed. Dean soon joined him.

"They probably think we're just up here fucking around, aren't they?" Dean chortled, face turning pink. The two lieutenants were staring at them. "Did you see Castiel's expression? He's so disappointed, oh god…"

Gabriel frowned at Sam until the younger man relented. Dean traded a look with his partner, only to be interrupted by a tentative squeak from the doorway.

"Ah, thank you Chuck. We'll take the numbers now." Dean received a sheet from the man, who dove out of the room as soon as his duty was fulfilled. "Sam. Look at these."

Sam double checked the paper and nodded, prompting Dean to turn to the lieutenants. "Get your fancy clothes ready. We're having a party."

"A  _party_?"

Dean nodded, affirming this. "We're pushing up  _Heaven_ 's opening. To tonight."

Gabriel looked like he was about to have a heart attack. " _Tonight_?"

"We're inviting the whole town. Including Gordon." Sam added, sending a mischievous smile Gabriel's way. "And you thought we hadn't planned anything."

"I think this is a—this is  _not_ a good idea." Castiel interjected. "You're vulnerable, you're public—these are all bad things, Dean!"

"But I didn't ask for your opinion, did I?" Dean said, narrowing his eyes. The lieutenant took a step back. He handed him Chuck's sheet. "Get these orders and invitations sent out immediately. Put Meg and Ruby on decoration, and Andy and Ansem on drinks. Hire waitresses and bartenders. The rest are on security. Understand?"

Gabriel and Castiel nodded. "Yes."

"Good." Dean dismissed them, moving to curl up on the bed with Sam. "So…what are you gonna wear?"

Sam smiled. "It's a surprise."

* * *

Ruby was in bed with Jessica when she got the text from Castiel. She actually managed to ignore her wonderfully sexy girlfriend for ten seconds and stare at the message, shocked. Then she smiled.

* * *

Sam stood at his mirror, and it was strange to be at his place after two days in Dean's. Clothes were thrown everywhere, and though Sam loved to brag about his sense of fashion, tonight it was disappointing him.

A firm knock on the door interrupted his musings. "Come in."

Meg danced her way inside, two cellphones clipped to her belt. She looked hurried but jovial, as usual. "Boss man. I was sent here to help."

_Probably by Gabriel._ Sam overlooked the sarcasm and gestured at the room. "Help me find something to wear. Please."

"Ooooh. Is Ickle-Sammykins having a hard time finding something to wear?"

"You try looking sexy next to Dean Winchester." Sam muttered darkly. Meg quickly opened up all his closets,  _hmmming_ to herself. "What?"

"This." Meg pulled the outfit out by the hanger. "Why have I never seen you in this?" It was an outrage, and a sin against humanity.

Sam's eyes widened. " _That_?" He asked, nervous. Then he considered it. If Dean wore black, which he was bound to do…it just might work. "You think so?"

"Oh, honey," Meg purred. "I think so."

* * *

_One town's very like another when your head's down over your pieces, brother…the bars are temples, but the pearls ain't free…_

_Heaven_ was a three-story club on the lower west side, bracketed by warehouses on either side and located in the part of town few would go to alone at night. Nevertheless, the last-minute party invitations brought in almost 600 guests, close to their capacity. Dean spotted more than a few celebrities in the crowd, paired with a good dozen of Chicago's remaining families.

He stared impassively over the crowd for a few minutes, letting their hopeful gazes reflect off him. Dean knew he looked good. Black tuxedos from Armani didn't come cheap. He had his hair up and gelled, knowing somehow, from the looks of his men, he looked more dangerous than usual. Though why he looked deadly in a suit instead of leather astounded him. There was just one thing missing…

Two stories up from the dancefloor was a small catwalk, leading to an alcove that overlooked the dancers below. Dean sat on a long leather couch, feet sprawled elegantly beneath him. A bottle of champagne sat on the table in an ice bucket, sweating onto the glass table.

"He's late," Dean said unhappily, fixing the dancers below with a deadly glare. Sam wasn't among them. "Where the hell is he?"

"Sam is fine," Benny said reassuringly, a solid presence at his back. "He's on his way now, according to Meg."

Dean grumbled at this. "You and Meg, huh?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Whatever." Dean frowned even more, moving his gaze to the cage dancers who lined the impressive height of the club. "How are drink sales?"

"Doing really well. We sold out on the VIP rooms in the first ten minutes."

Benny said, checking his phone. He made a surprised sound. "Ah. Here's Wesson's entourage now."

Dean looked down at the front doors expectantly, letting the music hum through his bones. A second later Meg stepped in, dressed in a tiny white cocktail dress, followed by Jessica and three other foot soldiers. Two men stepped in, most likely Ansem and Andy, wearing pure white as well. Three dozen of Sam's men quickly flowed onto the dancefloor, white threading through the trendy sea of black beneath him.

Dean was about to ask Benny what the hell was going on when he saw Sam.

Wesson was dressed from head to toe in pure white, an elegant tuxedo hanging off his frame like it was painted on. His hair was pushed back slightly, still tousled and shiny. He even had a white tie, paired with white shoes and a blinding Mont Blanc watch, done in diamond.

Dean felt his mouth fall open, and didn't even bother to close it. However sexy he'd expected Sam to be, the white was killing him. Sam looked like a king above the crowd.

The crowd immediately quieted under the music, all eyes on Wesson. More than a few appraising looks were sent his way. Dean was caught between wanting to rip people's throats out and threatening them to stare at Sam. Everyone should be looking at him tonight.

The moment passed as Meg waved people onto the floor. Their two entourages mixed well on the floor below, ironically giving them the look of chess pieces on the dancefloor. Dean saw Gabriel, dressed in white as well, dragging Sam towards the private elevator. A breathless moment later Wesson was on the third floor and stalking towards Dean.

Benny excused himself to a spot closer to the elevator. Dean was glad he did. The second Sam was within arm's reach he grabbed the taller man's face, dragging him down for a fierce kiss.

They paused for air a minute later. "Shit," Dean said, fingering Sam's immaculate lapels. "This is insane."

"Don't like it?" Sam asked coyly, smiling with those tip-tilted eyes of his. "Meg picked it out."

"Give that girl a raise," Dean said, dragging Sam over to his perch. The younger man let out a gasp as he spotted the view. "Like the seats?"

"Perfect place to watch." Sam said, settling into the white leather couch. He let his legs sprawl across Dean's, looking lazy with power. "You look nice. I like you in black."

Dean gave him a slow kiss for that, pulling away before they started on something they couldn't finish. "Let's not give the audience a free show, huh?" Though he loved having Sam in his lap instead of vapid super models any day of the week.

Sam pouted, which was quickly alleviated with a forehead kiss. "Has Gordon shown up yet?"

"No." Dean said, citing Castiel's info from before. "We're just waiting on him, I guess. Everyone else showed up."

"Couldn't stay away from the drama?" Sam queried, looking down at the partying. "Or do you think they actually wanted to come?"

"The families are here for blood. Gordon's their only hope against us." Dean glared at the representatives he could see, hoping they knew they were now on his shit list. "The rest wanna see us make out."

Sam grabbed the champagne, popping it over the crowd. The cork flew into the partiers, who cheered. "Well. Why don't we give them something to talk about while we wait?"

Dean accepted a glass of the bubbly liquid, tapping it against Sam's. "For you, anything."

* * *

_One night in Bangkok makes a hard man humble…a little flesh, a little history…I can feel an angel sliding up to me_

"They're really not holding back, are they?" Gabriel asked, craning his neck to stare at Sam and Dean's little third floor party. He knew for a fact the champagne the two bosses were spraying over the crowd was worth more than his monthly paycheck. "Cas. Are you even listening to me?"

Castiel made an affirming sound, head swiveling back and forth. "I'm watching the door, Gabriel."

Gabriel sighed, placing himself in front of Castiel, blocking the exit. "Can you at least put the gun away, hotshot?"

The lieutenant shifted nervously. "What gun?"

"That gun." Gabriel pointed at the bulge under Castiel's coat, surreptitiously draped over his arm. "Gor _dong_  isn't going to burst in through the front doors and spray the place. He's gonna have a plan. Let loose a little."

"Maybe you've forgotten your post, but I will not." Castiel said between clenched teeth. "I vowed to protect Dean. I refuse to 'let loose'."

"Ouch. Someone's got a lump of coal up their ass tonight," Gabriel moved out of the way, praying no one came too close to the trigger-happy second in command. He glanced up at Sam and Dean again, who were still sucking each other's tonsils like a pair of teenagers. "You really don't have faith in them, don't you?"

Castiel looked away, his posture weakening. "Dean is everything to me. He saved me from…a bad organization. He gave me a second chance."

"He's a good man." Gabriel agreed softly, watching the man in question laugh with Sam. They were still draped over each other, literal ying and yang.

"No. He's the best." Castiel said fiercely, regaining his earlier strength. "And I'm going to defend what makes him happy till my last breath. Because if Sam makes him happy, then I owe him the same allegiance."

Gabriel raised an eyebrow at the formal statement but allowed the point. "Speaking of…we should probably figure out how we're meshing our two organizations, considering Sam and Dean are practically joined at the hip."

They looked out into the crowd, spotting Ruby with Jessica, Meg talking to Benny. Andy was serving Sarah with a flirty smile at the bar, while Madison and Ansem were dancing together.

"Somehow," Castiel said after a moment, "I don't think that will be much of a problem."

* * *

_One night in Bangkok and the tough guys tumble…can't be too careful with your company…I can feel the devil walking next to me…_

Gordon pushed the doors open to  _Heaven,_ relishing the sight of a good 500 people inside. They were dancing like the sluts they were, heads thrown back, hands touching chests. A heavy musk settled over him as he entered the dance floor, none of his men behind him. It smelled like sex and alcohol, two of Dean's obvious favorites.

He spotted Dean almost immediately, the man dressed in sinful black as he walked down the extravagant staircase. The crowds parted for the man, allowing him to walk straight to Gordon. He looked suave and not at all murderous, though Gordon could guess the urge was laying just beneath the polished exterior.

"Gordon Walker," Dean said, meeting him at the foot of the stairs. "I'm glad you accepted our invitation. Welcome to  _Heaven._ "

"Our?" Gordon asked politely, flicking a glance up to the third floor Dean had exited.

"Sam and I are funding this nightclub ourselves. Do you like it?" Dean spread a hand out over the crowds, letting Gordon take it in. The speakers were tall enough to reach the second floor, blasting music. Sheets of glass were lit with colored lights, moving in sync with the beat of whatever was playing.

An elegant, extensive bar wrapped around the edge of the dance floor like a snake. There were a dozen bartenders working the glass bar top, barely keeping up with the expensive crowd.

"It's…impressive." Gordon said, flicking a glance up at the balcony again. He spotted a smudge of white against the black glass up there, but nothing more. "How is your… _partner_ doing? Enjoying the party?"

"Sam is fine," Dean bit out, showing his anger for the first time. He covered the outburst with a thin smile. "Can I get someone else to get you a drink, Gordon?"

"Champagne." Gordon said, moving towards the stairs. Dean put a hand on the railing, stopping him.

"VIPs only. Sorry, Walker."

Gordon tilted his head, giving him a sugar-sweet smile. "Not even for an old friend?"

He jabbed the Taser into Winchester's neck and pressed the button. The boss swung at him with a practiced blow, catching him in the throat. Gordon was winded, but Dean crumpled to the ground anyway, unable to resist the Taser. Gordon laughed as he twitched on the ground, teeth clenched as the boss held back a scream.

When that was done he ignored the shouts below him, climbing the stairs.

_Where are you, Sammy?"_ Gordon smiled, hoping Dean would see his way when he woke up. For now, he had his eye on the prize.

* * *

Benny was moving the second Gordon was spotted on the outside cameras, bustling Sam into the storage room Dean had ordered be prepared. He shut the door and wedged a chair under the handle, one hand on his radio.

"Eyes on Winchester. I repeat, eyes on Winchester?"

Sam beat his fists against the wall, enraged. Dean had pushed him into the room the moment Benny had informed him, walking down the staircase to meet Gordon head on. He'd left Sam behind, something that obviously hadn't been part of their shared plan.

Benny felt sympathy for the younger man, and then a little worry for himself. Sam wasn't going to hurt him, but the things he would do to protect Dean…

"Eyes on Winchester. North staircase, foot of the stairs. Talking to target." That was Meg, using her little earpiece. "Target engaged! Dean is down. Dean is  _down._ "

Shit shit shit shit. Benny checked his gun, the door's lock and Sam, in that order. "Where is target?"

"Climbing north stairs to asset." Meg's terse reply came. Below him he could hear gunshots as the crowds erupted, paired with the sound of broken glass. "Shit. Gordon's people just came in through the windows."

"Get Castiel and Gabriel engaged. Pull back supplementary forces and call in the backup." Benny ordered quickly. Sam had moved closer, listening in on his earpiece. "Get Winchester to safety, damn it!"

"He's hurt?" Sam asked, face white. He was clenching and unclenching his fists mechanically.

Benny ignored him, placing another hand on his comm. Ruby spoke, informing him she'd dragged Dean under a table. "That'll work, Ruby. Get him awake ASAP."

A knock on the door startled Benny.

"Saaa _aaammmmyyyy…._ " A familiar voice called. "Saaaaaa _aaaaaammm_ …"

He and Sam turned to face it immediately, the younger man placing Benny behind him. He took out a vicious looking Beretta from his dress pants, aiming it at the door.

"Who is it?"

* * *

Gordon laughed at the security Dean had been using. He busted the electric lock with one of his knives, burying it in the motherboard. He grabbed his Taser and a little .38 special he'd borrowed. A moment later the door cracked open, and he pulled it the rest of the way out. "Sam, you in there?"

Wesson stood in the small closet, shielding one of Dean's lieutenants. He had a small Beretta aimed at Gordon's chest. "Can I help you?"

"Oh, so this is how you keep the lieutenants in line." Gordon said, smiling unnervingly at Wesson. "A little quickie in the closet every now and then? You slut."

"You disgust me, Gordon." Sam said, still pointing his gun at Gordon. "Leave."

"And if I tell you Dean's dead?"

Wesson's face drained of all color. "Gordon-"

"Sorry, Sammy." Gordon lifted his hand, shooting the Taser at Wesson's chest before he could move. The kid went down, leaving the lieutenant unguarded. Gordon shot him in the stomach before stooping to grab Sam, ignoring the second in command's shout of pain. He shot over his shoulder again, trying to hit the man's head. What was it with Winchester's stubborn people?

"C'mon, Wesson." He gave Sam a quick injection and threw away the syringe. Then he pulled the younger man's weight by his arms, wincing but unable to stop. "We have a lot to do."

* * *

Dean woke up under one of his cocktail tables, and him being him immediately tried to leap to his feet. He got a hard bonk on his head for his trouble, along with a couple hissed swearwords from Ruby. Who was also apparently under the table?

"Get your fucking head  _down,_ Winchester." Ruby leaned over, shooting someone's ankles when they got too close to their hiding spot. "Listen to me. Gordon's upstairs. His men are down here. I think he just took out Benny. Sam got the same treatment you did."

That meant Sam was alive. Dean battled with the extreme rage bubbling up inside of him, forcing himself to form words. "Extra gun. Ammo.  _Now_."

He pulled out his own S&W, grabbing the proffered gun and ammo from Ruby. A second later he rolled out from under the table, shooting three of Gordon's men. Two of them went down screaming. One splattered blood everywhere. He caught a hit to his jaw and just kept moving.

Everywhere around him was chaos. Patrons were running and screaming, covered in blood. Gordon's men were wearing ski masks, exchanging fire with various foot soldiers dressed in Sam's white or his own black. Dean accepted rolling cover from Castiel and Gabriel at the foot of the stairs and climbed them three at a time.

He nearly stopped at the top, teetering. The closet he'd thrown Benny and Sam into was blasted open. Benny lay on the floor, blood pumping out of a wound in his gut and a graze on one of his cheekbones. Dean took a step forward to help the lieutenant when a pointed cough broke the silence.

"Dean."

Gordon sat on his leather couch, enjoying the champagne he and Sam had abandoned. Sam lay on the opposite fainting couch, tied to the arms and legs of the chair. A gag was in his mouth. His shirt had been ripped away, and his pants were split open.

His eyes were glassy with pain, red-rimmed like he'd been crying. Sam didn't look up at Dean like he'd expected, not even moving as he said his name. Was he drugged?

Dean almost fainted as he saw blood on Sam's pants, stomach dropping. He'd never thought Gordon would—would do  _that-_

" _Gordon_ ," He hissed, feeling white-hot rage overtake him. God, not Sam. Anything but Sam. The man pointed a gun at him, gesturing to a free chair.

"Sit down, Dean."

Dean spit blood onto the floor. "No."

"Alright. How about you reconsider." Gordon put the gun to Sam's head. "Sit down."

Dean sat.


	6. Pins and Needles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is worse off than Dean thought. Questions arise about a figure from Dean's past. Luke Milton won't keep his nose out of other people's business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Here's a shorter one for you. Some blood and gore below; be warned.

Luke ran into Winchester's club, gun in one hand and a radio in the other. Chaos was unfolding around him the second he entered. People were being thrown through windows, or into the huge glass bar he could see bracketing the dance floor. Shots were exchanged between a good dozen people, and he couldn't for the life of him tell who was shooting who.

He pushed a couple people out of the way, pausing as a familiar woman in a black cocktail dress brushed against him.

".. _Jo_?"

His wife had two berettas in her hands and was shooting after three men expertly. She turned and caught his surprised stare, mouth working soundlessly. "...Luke…"

She shot two of the men with a glance in their direction, both straight through the center mass. His Jo was shooting people? She was a-a  _receptionist,_ for God's sake. "What the  _hell_ are you doing?!"

Better yet-what the hell was she doing in  _Winchester_ 's club? Luke watched in amazement as his wife bit her lip, shot the third guy without even looking (guy didn't even bother to zig-zag; still, impressive) and ran away.

Hannah was behind him a second later, shoving at his back. "C'mon, Milton."

Two groups began to form on the dance floor as the men in black ski masks were shot or captured. One group was dressed in white, the other in black. Luke stared at his wife, firmly ensconced on the black side, and ran to find whoever had started this whole thing.

* * *

Dean heard the screams below him, and prayed that everyone he knew was safe. He couldn't move. Gordon had a gun pressed against Sam's forehead, scratching the skin there as he dug it in.

"There. That wasn't so bad." Walker kept the gun on Sam, relaxing his face into an amiable smile. It looked horrifying on him. "Dean. We need to talk."

"We are talking." Dean bit out between clenched teeth. "In fact. I'd even wager we're having a conversation right now."

Walker smiled, grabbing the champagne from before, one-handed. "Have a glass of bubbly, Dean. Get that stick out of your ass."

Dean again tried to make eye contact with Sam, but the other man refused to even move. "No. I'll pass."

"Fine. But I need you to  _listen_." Gordon leaned forward, staring Dean directly in the eyes. The gun he kept on Sam. "Sam Wesson is a poison. He's  _evil_ , Dean."

"Says the man who shot my lieutenant in cold blood," Dean rebutted, only to get a blank stare from Walker. "Why are you telling me this? Again?"

"He crawled into your bed and your organization." Gordon turned to look at Wesson, a smirk edging onto his face. "I'm here to  _warn_ you. He's been planning to take over since day one. Isn't that right, Sammy?"

Gordon slapped him lightly. Sam either didn't hear or didn't care, not bothering to reply. Dean felt a fission of doubt run through him, and he hated himself for it. For even considering that Gordon was right. "What do you mean?"

"He was going to kill you tonight. Take your business as his own. You were nothing but a fuck puppet, Dean! Don't you understand?" Gordon said vehemently, staring straight at him. "I'm  _saving_ you, brother! You think he's honest? Not when he wasn't telling you everything."

"And why am I supposed to believe  _you_ over him?" He asked quietly, hating himself for even considering it. Sam was  _right_ there. "What do you know, Gordon?"

"I know where your father is," Gordon said, the words shattering anything Dean was about to say. "And so did Wesson. For  _weeks._ "

His father. His father was  _gone._ Dean hadn't seen John Winchester in...God, twenty five years.

"...Even if that was true," Dean said quickly, doubtingly. "I don't understand what you're asking of me."

"Don't play coy," Gordon barked, face tightening. He pulled another gun from his waistband, handing it to Dean. When he grabbed the handle Walker pulled the muzzle towards Sam's face, joining the other gun there.

"Shoot him."

Dean stared down at Sam's red eyes. Then he placed the gun barrel right between them.

* * *

Gabriel shot the last of Gordon's men, officially ending the night's festivities. All of the party guests had either left or were in the process of doing so, dragging torn dresses and bloodied friends with them. The lieutenant felt a small amount of satisfaction as he surveyed their people, noticing no casualties. Castiel panted at his side, ostensibly doing the same thing.

Ruby came dashing up in her heels, blood across her face. She grabbed Gabriel's arm to steady herself. "You have to get upstairs!  _Now_!"

He traded a glance with Castiel and booked it for the stairs, reloading as they ran.

* * *

Sam couldn't move. He couldn't speak. Whatever Gordon had given him was potent enough to steal those actions away from him. Ironically, it left him awake, trapped on the couch as he heard Dean enter the balcony.

Gordon was wrong about everything. Sam had ditched the Winchester overthrowal the day he'd met Dean, and he hadn't considered it since. But he wasn't there to defend himself, beyond drooling. God, but he wanted to punch Walker in his smug, smarmy face.

Dean's face when he heard about his dad made Sam worry. He didn't know Dean's dad from Alec Baldwin, but Gordon seemed to think he did. Up until that point, he knew without a doubt Dean wouldn't shoot him. The second the father was mentioned that confidence went out the window.

Sam froze as much as he could when the gun was placed between his eyes. Gordon slowly drew his weapon away, leaving Dean as the solitary threat, staring him down. He whispered something in Dean's ear, probably some sort of assurance, and Sam Wesson began to feel real fear.

He made eye contact with Dean, afraid of what he would find there. Winchester's eyes were blank with anger. His face was expressionless. He looked down at Sam like he was prey.

" _Do it_ , Dean!"

Dean caught Sam's eyes one last time. Then he winked.

A moment later Gordon Walker fell down the stairs, a bullet hole in his right shoulder. The gun in his hand fell onto the dancefloor below, scattering the people there. Teetering on a step, the man groaned and fell another half-dozen stairs down, taking him out of Sam's limited field of vision.

Dean was after Gordon in a heartbeat, kicking the man in the ribs and smirking as he felt bones crack. Walker tumbled down the next flight, bringing them just below the second balcony. With an unrepentant smile, Dean grabbed him by the lapels, hauled him over the railing, and thew him onto the dancefloor.

Gordon fell the remaining story and landed with an muffled thump, scattering the people who were dumb to remain on the dancefloor. Dean walked down the stairs, tearing off his tie with one vicious motion. His people and Sam's didn't dare to speak as he circled the boss.

Walker was motionless but still breathing as he approached. Dean knelt, slowly pulling Gordon's bloody face into his hands.

"Gordon. Goooooo _rrdoooon._  Stay with me." Dean smiled at him, a slow, sweet smile. It chilled everyone who was watching. "You and I are going to have  _so_ much fun together."

Gordon passed out.

Dean let the man's head drop, not bothering to turn around as it cracked against the dance floor. Luke Milton stood in the crowd, his face pale. Dean didn't care to make eye contact. His only focus was Sam.

When he got back up the stairs Castiel and Gabriel were tending to Benny, and Sam was untied. Blood covered the entire balcony.

He spared a minute for his lieutenant, helping Gabriel and Cas lift him onto a stretcher they'd found. Bobby had been called and they were rushing Laffite to the hospital as soon as the ambulance arrived. It was all they could do.

Sam was still on the fainting couch, head leaned against the wall. His breathing was quick and shallow. Dean put a hand on his forehead, wiping away the blood there. The younger man felt feverish, trembling slightly under his palm.

"Sam?"

"D-dean…" Sam managed after a minute of trying, voice shaking. "..d-drug-ged...m-me…"

Dean beckoned Castiel over, who'd returned from helping Benny and was covered in blood. The lieutenant automatically checked Sam's vital signs, frowning. "We need to get him down to Bobby."

"Call him. Get him to the warehouse property." Dean ordered, picking Sam up bridal style and moving towards the elevator. "Get Laffite there once he's done at the ER!"

Castiel ran to the elevator. Dean followed, hefting Sam up.

"D-dean…"

"How's it feel to be a princess, Samantha?" Dean teased, hiding his fear with a smile. His heart nearly stopped as Sam's eyes rolled back into his head and the teasing stopped. "Stay with me, Sam."

"Keep his airways open," Castiel warned, pounding on the elevator's  _close doors_ button. "Lift his head up, Dean."

He followed the instructions carefully, fear overtaking him as Sam began to tremble in his hands. "Move faster, Castiel."

What felt like years took only seconds. Castiel opened the elevator doors, pushing back people as Dean rushed out. Two ambulances sat out front and he made a beeline for them. Sam was beginning to shake even more in his hands. A seizure? God, he hoped not.

"Stay with me." Dean pleaded, voice cracking. He ran as fast as he could, shoving people aside. "Stay with me, Sam!  _Sam_!"

Then the younger man stopped breathing.

* * *

The forests of Louisiana stretched out in front of him. He had a fishing rod in one hand. It seemed like the fishes were biting today, so he placed a larger piece of bait on his hook.

"He will be okay, Dean."

Benny heard Castiel's rough voice and frowned. Why was  _he_ in his dream? The fish were swarming in the water below him, trying to get at his bait. He dropped the hook obligingly, feeling something crack in his aura of calm.  _Castiel_?

"How do you goddamned know?"  _Ah, that was the impatient Dean Winchester he knew._ "Cas, he's not waking up."

Benny tried to blink, wondering if they were discussing him. The tone in Dean's voice was alien to him. He'd never heard Dean so... _young_  sounding.

On the third attempt at blinking he seemed to surface, gasping at the light. He opened his eyes and found Castiel and Dean a few yards off, standing in front of another bed.

Benny tried to sit up and groaned as the muscles in his abdomen recoiled. By the time he managed to raise his head enough to look down, Castiel and Dean were at his side.

"Don't move. Keep your head up." Castiel adjusted some IV lines, head bowed over the machinery. Dean just raised an eyebrow, his earlier vulnerability disappearing.

"So you decided not to croak after all."

Benny blinked, feeling a fresh rush of drugs hit his system. Castiel stopped tweaking with the wires and returned to Dean's side. "No...sir. Gotta watch after...your ass."

Dean smiled, but it was tight. He glanced across the room, back to the bed they'd been standing in front of. A man lay in the bed, dozens of wires and tubes connected to his body.

Benny felt his eyes droop as the drugs kicked in. He realized right before he passed out that the man in the bed was Sam Wesson.

* * *

Bobby came in right after Benny left the conscious world, two charts and a bottle of pills balanced on his arm. The other was holding an old fashioned doctor's bag. Dean pounced when he saw him.

"How is he?"

"I didn't even check yet," the doctor said, dropping his bag next to Sam's bed. "But if you find some magic spell that tells me how my patients are from miles away, you let me know, boy."

Castiel had to hold Dean back as Bobby looked over Sam, gritting his teeth. Dean watched every examination with microscopic focus, leaning over the doctor's shoulder.

"Well?" He asked when Singer was finished.

"The same as yesterday. Nothing's changed." Bobby took off his stethoscope, placing it into his bag. "His vitals are good. I don't think the seizure did any major damage. His pupils are responsive, his brain activity good."

"But he's not waking up." Dean argued.

"He will. We just don't know what was given to him. There could have been anything in that syringe." Bobby looked up at Dean, a thought forming. "If you can get the syringe, or find out what was in it, we can do some tests."

Castiel began moving before he was done speaking. "I will head this effort."

Dean waved at him. "Hand it off to Gabriel. I want you in the basement instead."

Castiel paused at the door. "...Yes, sir."

"I'll be back around lunch to check on Sam again," Bobby said, moving over to examine Benny. "Sure is a nice warehouse you got, Winchester. I didn't know you renovated it."

"It used to be a meat packing plant," Dean said vaguely, still looking at Sam. "The basement's the only thing I didn't touch."

_For good reasons._ Castiel thought as he left the room, wondering what Dean had in store for Gordon down there.

* * *

Luke Milton was standing in his lobby when Dean went upstairs an hour later. He'd spent the past day next to Sam's side, and needed a change of clothes. The unforeseen visit irked him. Couldn't the detective see he was busy?

Jo was nowhere to be seen, which was probably a good thing. Dean walked past the detective, on his way to his rooms. He had better things to do than argue.

"Dean."

"Luke," He sent the man a sunny smile, already climbing the stairs. "So nice of you to show up unannounced."

The man was undeterred, following him up the staircase. "I need to talk to you."

"On police business?"

"Personal."

Dean kept walking, but didn't dismiss the detective. Milton followed him into the bedroom, unashamed as Winchester took his shirt off. A gun was tucked into his waistband.

"You got a permit for that gun?"

Winchester snorted, changing into a fresh shirt. " _That_ 's what you came here to ask me about?"

Milton scowled. "I'm here to talk about my wife. And why she seems to be working for you when she told me she had a job at Macie's."

Dean raised his eyebrows, walking into his office. He paged through the day's mail quickly, annoyed that Milton followed him. "Sounds like a problem between you and her, buddy."

"I want you to fire her."

That stopped him for a second. Dean turned, dropping the bill he'd been holding. "She's a good receptionist."

"She  _shoots_ people.  _Illegally_."

"Are you talking about the other night?" Dean asked, barely caring. "Because it was self defense. Even you can admit that."

"Doesn't change the fact that she shouldn't be working for you."

"Have you even talked to your wife?" Dean asked, patience wearing thin. He circled the desk, staring at Milton. "You come here, into my building when my partner is in a coma and get me to try and fix your nonexistent marital affairs? Get the fuck out."

Luke narrowed his eyes. "I'm keeping an eye on you and Wesson."

"And I'm keeping your wife." Dean smiled, watching Milton tense at the words. "You can show yourself out."

Milton left, passing Gabriel in the hallway. Dean took him by the arm and led them into the elevator three rooms down.

"Why the secrecy?" The lieutenant asked once they were safe inside the elevator. He had a brown cardboard box tucked against his chest.

"Detective Milton came in asking about his wife." Dean muttered irritably. "I don't want him seeing our guest. Whatever. Did you get the syringe?"

Gabriel handed him the small box, which rattled. "It was kicked under the table upstairs."

"Great. I'll give it to Bobby ASAP." Dean watched the shorter man swell with pride, mulling over something. "Do you want to come with me?"

"To...Gordon?"

Dean nodded. "I heard you like Just Desserts. Gordon's about to get a couple."

Gabriel's expression turned evil, a feverish glint forming in his eyes. "That bastard deserves more than a couple."

"Great." Dean smirked as the elevator doors opened, revealing the basement. "Follow me."

Castiel stood guard with a handful of other foot soldiers. Dean handed him the syringe case and ordered him to give it to Singer. The second in command obliged, leaving the other guards at their posts.

The warehouse's basement wasn't renovated and kept mostly the way it was in the 1940's. Dean bought it a half decade ago off one of the Polish families. Almost a century ago, it had been a flurry of working machines and people. Now it was abandoned.

Meat hooks still hung from the ceiling. The original machinery was rusting away in the corner, lending the room a sinister look. Dean heard Gabriel gasp behind him and smiled.

Gordon Walker was tied to a chair in the center, bloody and unconscious. A bandage was haphazardly tied around his shoulder, covering the bullet wound there. The right side of his face was swollen, bruised to the point that facial bones were probably broken.

Dean considered it all recompense. He grabbed Gabriel and directed him towards the table next to Walker. A leather case sat there.

"Open it."

The lieutenant did so, revealing a large set of knives and pliers. One of the guards walked forward and splashed Gordon with a bucket. Dean watched with a smile, arms crossed as he leaned against one of the pillars.

Walker sputtered awake after a second bucket, letting out a low groan as the water hit his wounds. Dean knew for a fact it was salt water, because he wanted to make everything that much more painful for the other man. He would have had acid in the bucket if Gordon could have survived multiple splashes.

"Gordon? You awake, man?"

Gabriel backed away as Dean took center stage, rolling the table with the knives on it towards the other boss. Walker's eyes widened, but he smiled around the pain.

"A little torture to impress me?" Fresh blood was running from his shoulder, mixing with the salt water. Walker seemed to ignore it. "You're living up to your name."

"These?" Dean pointed at the knives, mock surprised. "You don't like them?"

Gordon sneered, getting another bucket of salt water from the silent guard for his trouble. "F-fuck. I expected b-better."

"Good thing we have other things prepared." Dean wagged a finger at Gordon, smiling. "You little prissy bitch. I knew you'd want the very best."

Winchester motioned Gabriel over, gesturing to the other guards. They brought over two chains, slinging them over hooks hanging from the ceiling above. Gabriel swallowed nervously as he realized they were razor-sharp meat hooks.

"Like it?" Dean asked Gordon. "I figured we'd start there and work our way up."

Walker's face was pale, and his retort was quiet. "You don't want to do this."

Dean yanked down on one of the hooks, pulling it into place. The second one quickly followed. "Cut him."

The guards cut Gordon free from the chair, frogmarching him to stand up on it. Dean was barely a foot shorter than Walker as they stood face to face. Gabriel watched in morbid fascination as Winchester grabbed Gordon's injured shoulder in a brotherly hold.

"You really thought I would listen to you."

Gordon screwed up his face. "You're wrong about him."

Dean shoved the hook through Gordon's shoulder instead of answering, relishing the scream it tore from Walker. The man continued to scream as he put the other hook through his left shoulder, pulling savagely on the chains.

Walker was yanked into the air with a cut-off scream, the sound echoing across the cavernous room. Blood rained down as the man dangled from the two hooks, splattering onto the concrete floor.

Dean waited until Gordon was moaning, low sobs escaping the man as he swung painfully back and forth. Gabriel realized he was crying, and steeled himself. Sam was in a coma. This man didn't deserve any kind of sympathy.

"Gordon?"

"...please." Gordon sobbed, head hanging. "Please, I'll t-tell you... _anything_."

"Anything?"

A stuttering sob. "...please…"

Dean clapped his hands together. "Great. I'll be back in a couple days."

He whistled and Gabriel followed. The guards took up their original positions.

An enraged shout followed them as Gordon was left to dangle.


	7. Achtung, Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gordon Walker finds out what it means to mess with what is Dean's. Sex and violence fight a desperate battle against fluff. Benny and Gabriel do drugs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N A shorter chapter for you guys. Sorry :( real life is just getting in the way. However, you get sex and violence all in one chapter! I hope you enjoy :)

A week in the Winchester-Wesson warehouse passed. Benny spent most of that time sleeping, catching up on his reading when the drugs weren't too potent. Castiel and Gabriel, Sam's lieutenant, would visit him occasionally and keep him updated.

Benny didn't mind the break, and his gut certainly wasn't protesting the lack of movement, but he was restless. Sam Wesson was still in a coma in the bed next to him, but Dean hadn't visited much. Maybe it was because nothing had changed, really. The doctor had been in again and again, ostensibly on Dean's paranoid orders, but the test results yielded nothing new.

There was brief talk of testing a syringe, Bobby told him, but it would take more than a few days.  _This ain't CSI or some shit_  Singer had told him in an irritated huff, like he'd undoubtedly told Dean a hundred times. Wesson was pale and unresponsive under all his tubes and wires, and Benny found himself worrying as he watched over the younger man.

On the eighth day, he awakened to the sound of coughing. Hazy with vicodin and a mess of other substances (some of which he guessed weren't legal, courtesy of Dean's drug operations) he blinked awake. Wesson's body was upright, shuddering.

Benny attempted to swing himself out of the bed, horror radiating down his spine. His gut fiercely opposed this motion, sending wave after wave of pain through his body. Benny found himself doubled over on the ground, unable to move.

Above him, Sam Wesson was choking around the tube they'd used to intubate him. Benny watched in amazement as the younger man sat up fully and grabbed ahold of the tube, pulling it out with a gasping, shuddering cough. The foot and a half-long tube came out with little resistance, and Wesson started breathing normally, falling back onto his pillows.

Benny ignored the white-hot pain in his gut and stood resolute next to his pseudo-Boss' bed, grabbing onto the bed rails. Wesson stared up at him, spent.

"Sam. You okay?"

"Peachy." His voice was quiet and gravelly, rough with disuse. "...Dean?"

Benny nodded, already reaching for the cell phone his boss had left him. "I'll call him down right away, sir."

Sam coughed a laugh at the title, moving himself into an upright position on the bed. Benny continued to stare at the kid even as he called Dean, impressed. Intubating someone with a breathing tube was hard enough for doctors and a panel of trained nurses. For the kid to pull it out himself was, well, close to impossible. It built a little bit more respect for Wesson in Benny's eyes.

Winchester barely heard his report of  _Sam's awake_ before the phone call cut off. Benny stumbled back to his bed, picturing his boss sprinting down the hallways in whatever he was wearing at-what time was it? He looked down at his watch. Three in the morning.

Sure enough, Dean was in nothing but a pair of boxers and a white t-shirt. Castiel and Gabriel were behind him, the former looking sleepy but dressed in a full suit and tie, the latter in something Benny's grandmother would have called a  _dressing gown._

Dean ran up to the bed, grabbing ahold of Wesson's hand. "Sam."

"Hey," Sam said softly, looking him up and down. "...Nice shorts."

Benny would have given one of his legs to have the resulting moment on video. Dean blushed a fierce red, shifting guiltily next to the bed. He coughed, glaring once at Benny when he spotted him. Castiel was stone-faced as ever, but a hint of a smirk was on Gabriel's face.

"How are you doing? Are you in any pain? Shit," Dean tried to read the monitors with one hand still grasping Sam's. "Someone call Bobby down here ASAP. Hey, wait? Where's your tube?"

"What tube?" Sam asked innocently, his leg blocking it from Dean's sight but not from Benny's. He watched in amusement and with much respect for the other man as he subtly curled his blankets over it. "I'm so glad you're okay, Dean. That Gordon didn't-didn't hurt you."

Dean's face darkened at the mention of Gordon, and Gabriel and Castiel both took a step backwards. Interesting. Maybe he'd been doing more with the boss than Benny had originally imagined. "He's not going to hurt you ever again, Sam."

Castiel and Gabriel both took this opportunity to stand guard at the door and give the lovers some privacy. Benny looked at his situation and wished he could follow them. Or that he had a fantastic pair of ear plugs.

"...did he, um…" Benny tried so hard to tune their personal moment out, but the words made him curious. After a week of boredom he deserved to know  _something_ about what had happened. "Did he, ah, rape you? I-I saw blood on your pants, but Bobby couldn't find, ah, anything…"

Sam's gaze was fierce. "He tried. I bit his hand when he touched me. That was his blood."

Dean's relieved laugh echoed in the large room. "That's my boy."

"Is Gordon alive still?'

He quieted. "Yes."

"Barely, I'm guessing?"

"When you're on your feet again, you can see." Dean promised, heralding the opening of the door. Bobby Singer walked in, dressed in a pair of striped pajamas. "Bobby!"

"Damn it, son, it's three in the goddamned morning!" Singer said, walking hastily over to Sam's bed. He got an instant helping of puppy dog eyes from Sam, an obvious apology. "Not you, son. We're all glad you're awake. If only this one could take a week-long nap one of these days, huh?"

"Hey!" Dean said, affronted as Bobby pointed at him. "I pay you really well for all the shit you give me!"

"You pay me really well 'cause I'm really  _good_." Bobby said, ignoring him and looking over Sam's machines and tubes. "Where's the tracheal intu…. _hmmmm._ Alright. Sam, can you see how many fingers I'm holding up?"

"Four." Sam said, his voice growing stronger with each minute. Bobby snapped quickly in front of his face, causing the other man to flinch.

"Good reflexes, okay. Any pain or nausea?"

Dean looked worried but Sam shook his head. "None."

"Dizziness?"

"No."

"Alright. We'll get the testing back on the syringe in two days, so we'll see what was in it then, at least retroactively." Bobby turned to Dean. "My guess is it was a strong tranquilizer mixed with some illegal materials he might have picked up from the hospital. Some sort of botched at-home medical coma stuff."

As if Dean need more reasons to hate Gordon Walker, Benny mused. His boss' face was dark again, mulling over something. "Sam, you wanna come with me?"

"He's not ready to stand-"

Wesson pulled himself up despite the doctor's protests, calmly pulling out his IV like he'd done the intubation tube. He was unnaturally steady on his feet, following Dean out the door.

Bobby turned to Benny once they'd left, throwing his hands up in the air. "Well, are you gonna goddamned walk out AMA too?"

Benny eyed some of the syringes he saw next to his bed, unable to resist seeing what Dean was about to do to Gordon. "...can I have some morphine first?"

* * *

Sam was out of breath when they reached the basement, but damned if he was letting Dean know that. His lover had a look in his eye that spelled trouble, like he'd just had something terrible confirmed. Considering what he'd gleaned from the previous conversation, Gordon Walker was still alive. And hopefully in a lot of pain.

"And Dr. Dre said...nothing, you idiots! Dr. Dre's dead, he's locked in my basement!" Gabriel was singing behind him, bobbing his head along to some rap song. He and Castiel were subtly positioning themselves behind Sam, aware that he could fall at any moment. The blow to his pride was overruled by the affection he felt for both of them.

A large basement opened up as the elevator stopped, revealing the cavernous room. Pillars of stone bracketed the packaging areas, and Sam was impressed to see some of the original equipment still intact. It was totally Dean to keep everything dusty and menacing-looking. He followed the older man into the room, keeping his steps steady.

Speaking of…

Gordon Walker hung from two meat hooks, dug into both of his shoulders. The chains traveled high into the ceiling, wrapped around two bars. Walker dangled a good fifteen feet off the stone floor, limp. Sam immediately smelled something rotten and took a closer look at the hooks. The flesh around them was mottled and probably septic. It paired well with the smell of excrement that leaked from the floor below, too.

"Gordon Walker," Dean said, causing the man to startle weakly. Two guards stood at the base of the chains, a gun in their respective hands. "Wakey, wakey."

Sam watched in surprise as the man raised his head. This wasn't the same boss who'd drugged him. He was bareboned and emaciated. His eyes were a sallow yellow color. Save for a small IV line running into his arm, he shouldn't have been alive.

Benny quietly stepped into the room, moving to stand next to the other lieutenants. Sam shot him a worried look, but Laffite's pupils were blown to hell, and it was apparent he was highly medicated. Ah well.

" _Dean_ …" However horrible Sam's voice had sounded at first, it had nothing on Gordon's whispering scratch. A broken sob cracked through his chest, rattling. "...kill me.  _Please._ "

"Gordon's just sad 'cause I haven't seen him in a week." Dean informed Sam, pulling his gun out. "Well, Gordon. Today's your lucky day."

Sam watched the dawn of hope in Gordon's eyes at the sight of the gun. Dean moved to stand underneath him, motioning to the guards. The chains were lowered, pulling Gordon down to them. The boss groaned weakly as the meat hooks moved, placing him face to face with Dean.

"I'm going to give you one shot at this, Gordon. I don't want lies. I don't want bargains. You tell me what I'm looking for, I'll shoot you executioner style. No hang ups." Dean motioned to Sam, who managed to stand straight and look intimidating. "Even Sam here agrees, and let me tell you, buddy, his forgiveness ain't cheap. You better. Fucking.  _Earn._ it."

He punctuated each word with a tap of the gun barrel against Walker's head. The man's mouth fell open, saliva dripping from his tongue. He looked desperate. Broken.

"I'll take that as a yes," Dean said amiably, like he wasn't about to cause Gordon immediate pain. Sam wondered vaguely if he intended on actually giving Gordon what he wanted. "John Winchester. Where is he?"

Dean had questioned Sam in the elevator, but he didn't know the name. Whatever lies Gordon had spun in the club included Dean's father, because Sam couldn't think of anyone he might know. The hazy description Dean gave him didn't match anyone he knew either. So why had Gordon lied?

Gordon's eyes rolled in their sockets, creating a dry, raspy sound. "He's... _here._ "

"In Chicago?"

The man twitched, maybe a nod. "My...o-organization. Launderer. D-doesn't...know."

"He works for you?" Dean asked, his voice taking on a new tone. Gordon twitched again. "As a launderer. Where?"

"Grena's...27th…"

Castiel wrote this down on a small notepad, nodding to Dean. Sam stared at Gordon, rolling his words over.

"He doesn't know what?"

Gordon barely glanced at Sam, his eyes still stuck hungrily on Dean's gun. "Doesn't know...who you..are." He licked his dry, cracked lips. "Doesn't know he w-works for bosses…"

"Why do you have him?" Dean asked, shaking Gordon's chains in anger. The man screamed hoarsely, the sound echoing grotesquely in the large room. "Answer me, Gordon!"

" _I didn't know!_ " Gordon screamed, babbling, pleading with Dean in nonsensical words. "I didn't know I didn't know please please I didn't-"

Sam watched as Dean held the gun aloft, stopping Walker's screaming in its tracks. He looked back once at Sam, eyes calculating.

" _Please._ " Gordon whispered, eyes on the gun. "Please, Dean."

"You think that was all this was about?" Dean asked, gesturing at Castiel. The lieutenant left the room quickly, already looking up the information on his phone. "You think all I wanted was a little information, and then you could go night night?"

Gordon's eyes watered, and he made a deep sound in the back of his throat. "We..had a  _deal_."

"Well, you tried to drug and rape the love of my life." Dean said, backing up. He put the gun away, moving to stand next to Sam. A moaning sound followed the action. "Shut up, Gordon. I'm not bargaining with you. You want death, you goddamned fool, you get on your knees and you  _beg_ Sam for it."

The chains were lowered slightly, allowing for this action. Sam felt a slight tap on his back and moved forward. A gun was handed to him by one of the guards. Gordon stared at him as he walked forward, shaking unsteadily on his feet.

He collapsed as Sam finally arrived, falling to a shuddering heap on the floor. One yellowed, bloody eye was still visible, blinking dryly at him.

"Say it, Gordon." Dean ordered from what felt like miles away. "Show him some respect. Kiss his  _goddamned_ shoes."

Gordon gritted his teeth, rolling over onto his stomach. He screamed again as the meat hooks dug into his flesh, fresh blood pouring onto the floor. Coming to a rest almost on top of Sam's feet, he glared up at him.

" _Please_ …" Gordon's plea was scratchy, barely above a whisper. Sam wrapped his hands around Dean's gun, moving the barrel to point right between Walker's eyes. Just like he'd had Dean do to him.

He thought back to Benny, and to the terror he'd felt when he'd learned Dean had fallen. To the drug that had left him senseless and vulnerable, both to Gordon's body and his lies. He pushed the gun a little closer.

Gordon's eyes lit up, and that small glimmer of hope Sam saw there changed everything.

"Put him back up," He ordered the guards, casting the gun aside. The two soldiers yanked Walker up quickly, pausing him at Sam's height. They were face to face, Gordon's expression was twisted, losing all of its earlier desperation. "Fuck you, Walker."

The chains were cranked higher, until Gordon was twenty feet off the ground. Not feeling magnanimous in the least, Sam yanked the IV line out of Walker's arm. He turned to Dean, raising an eyebrow.

"Leave him there."

Dean was smiling, a proud look on his face. Sam realized in that moment that he'd picked the perfect partner. They watched Gordon sway in the chains together, ignoring their audience. Sam nosed at Dean's throat, the other man groaning quietly.

"Gross." Benny said from behind them, Gabriel making gagging noises.

Sam didn't listen, still murmuring in Dean's ear. All Benny and Gabriel could catch was  _you can top...tonight._

"Sam!" Gabriel whined, clapping his hands over his ears. "You're literally-omigod. I can't."

Benny handed him a syringe wordlessly, watching Dean kiss his lover intensely. "Should we be watching this?"

"The better question is, should I be worried about what's in this?' Gabriel asked, but he was already rolling his sleeve up. He injected it like a practiced pro. "Ah. Nothing's sweeter than a rush of morphine. Singer give it to you?"

"Yah."

Dean yanked Sam into the elevator, the two of them grinding up on each other. Gabriel made gagging noises again, pointing him and Benny towards the door for the stairs. Much safer route indeed.

* * *

Sam, though insistent, wasn't really up for sex at that moment. It was 4:30 in the morning, and Dean was still in boxers. By mutual agreement they decided to cuddle in bed, Sam snoring away the rest of his coma as Dean carefully watched over him.

It was such a relief to have Sam safe in his arms, he barely thought about John. Gordon's lies and machinations had almost torn them apart, but they'd pulled through strong. John Winchester was a ghost...and ghosts could be dealt with another day.

Ruby and Jessica found their way into Dean's rooms around noon, giggling like a pair of teenage girls. Sam was shirtless and unconscious on Dean's chest, snoring lightly when they entered.

"Omigod. Omigod, Jess, look at those back muscles." Ruby pointed, fanning herself. "They  _twitch._ Omigod."

Dean immediately threw a hand across Sam's back, narrowing his eyes. Ruby appeared to be orgasming behind her hand. "What the hell are you two doing here?"

Jessica smacked her girlfriend, moving to get a closer look at Sam. "Is he okay? We heard he was awake."

"He woke up around three." Dean said quietly, lowering his voice so they wouldn't wake Sam. "And you're not getting him for another two months, so don't even ask."

Ruby made a cooing sound, earning herself another smack from Jessica. "I think we should celebrate."

"Celebrate?"

Jessica nodded. "Ellen has an opening for her back room tonight. I already called."

Dean thought it over. The search for John could wait, at least until Sam was up to full strength. "...Fine."

Ruby opened her mouth to cheer and got Jessica's hand instead. They both looked at Sam, who snuffled slightly at the noise and shifted on Dean's chest. Dean glared daggers at the two women, daring them to wake Sam up.

"We're inviting everyone, yeah?" Ruby whispered, already moving to leave. She tugged Jessica after her, who was still looking at Sam's sleeping form. "Jess, c'mon. We got a party to plan."

Dean shook his head as the two women left, bemused, He carded a hand through Sam's hair, feeling the soft strands in between his fingers. Sam shifted again, rubbing against him.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty." Sam blinked at the title, looking dazed. It was adorable.

"I feel like sleeping for a week…" the younger man admitted. He yawned. "But I already did that."

"Oh, babe," Dean said, mock-sympathetic. "I'll let you sleep on me anytime."

Sam looked down, realizing his position. "This is  _not_ how I fell asleep."

"What can I say? You're grabby. Like an octopus." Dean smiled at his lover before Sam could protest, grabbing him around the waist. "A really hot octopus."

"Great foreplay, Dean." Sam muttered, but he was smiling. With an adept twist of Dean's hands, he was laying on his back. Dean crawled over him, a dorky smile on his face. Sam decided to mention this. "You're such a dork."

"Can a dork do this?" Dean asked, pulling Sam's pants off, hands grazing his hips. Sam moaned slightly, enjoying the contact. "That's what I thought."

"I think you're gonna have to work a little harder." Sam teased as his boxers were removed, both of them naked now. "I was in a coma for a week. Still not really feeling anything down there."

Dean flicked one of his nipples. "How about now?"

"Nah."

A hand grabbed him, slowly jacking him off. Dean peppered kisses down Sam's neck, biting his shoulder fiercely. Sam jumped at the sudden pain, resisting the urge to smack Dean. "Now?"

"You  _sure_ you've topped before?"

Dean growled, shoving Sam's arms behind his neck. A second later he was on his stomach, face buried in the pillows. Dean was between his legs, gripping his ankles bruisingly. A low  _snick_ sounded, and then there was something slick between his thighs. Dean pushed a finger into him and Sam yowled, twisting on it.

"There you go. Take it." Dean growled at him, holding his hair in a punishing grip. "I want you to feel this tomorrow. I want you to feel this all week, babe."

Sam groaned as another finger was pressed in, and a moment later a third. He'd forgotten what bottoming was like. Dean's dirty talk was...cute, but nothing special. He gasped as Dean finally pressed in, his mind trying to work around the size he hadn't been anywhere close to prepared for.

"Jesus." He said, half dumb as Dean began to rock into him. "Holy shit. Holy  _shit_."

"Mhmm." Dean groaned, changing his angle. Sam was pushed down even further into the mattress, getting a matching bite on his other shoulder. Sam felt blood well in the wound and gasped as Dean licked it up, feeling fire race up and down his spine. Every thrust was like another wave of pleasure, building and cresting as they rocked against each other. Jesus. Jesus.

Sam was feeling a telltale stirring when Dean slowed his pace, groaning at the loss of friction. Dean pushed his face right under Sam's ear, nipping at his earlobe. "How about now?"

"Fuck you." Sam growled, uncharacteristically frustrated. He swiveled his hips once, drawing Dean back into him. "Move, damn you."

"Say the magic word."

" _Please_."

Sam gasped as Dean began thrusting again, moving at three times the speed he was earlier. He could barely move with him, much less try and keep ahead. Dean caught at something within him that shot sparks across his vision, blurring out everything except the sensation of hands at his hips, his neck, a mouth kissing the crown of his back. Then he tensed around Dean, spilling everything he had in the best orgasm of his life.

Dean came a moment later, grunting into Sam's back. He rolled them onto their sides, wrapping his legs around Sam's torso. Sam collapsed into the pillows, exhausted.

Dean thought he looked tan and beautiful against the white sheets. And all his for the taking.

"Sam. Babe. You awake?"

Dean was met with snores from the younger man, and just smiled.


	8. FUNdamentals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hilarity ensues as the Winchester-Wesson clan throws a party. Someone unexpected shows up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Here's probably the crackiest chapter for you yet. There's some plot at the end, though, so don't worry. Hope you enjoy!

Ellen's Roadhouse was a large bar on the lower east side, fairly unremarkable from the outside and about the same on the inside. The crowning difference, as Dean told Sam during the car ride there, was the company.

Jo Harvelle's mother, Ellen, had run the bar for decades. It was an old watering hole, housing anyone from dirty cops to the mayor's daughter's bachelorette party. A wooden bar sat in the front, but the back room was even larger.

Sam gaped as they were led into the party room, looking up at the old ceilings in awe. Well-kept brick lined the room, giving it a large, yet cozy, aura. A smaller bar and a music stage took up the west wall, while the rest was filled with banquet tables.

"And this is all for tonight?" Sam asked Dean once his mouth started working again. He spotted Ruby and Jessica over in the corner and frowned. "Wait. Why are they dressed like playboy bunnies?"

Dean's eyes widened and he immediately turned towards the pair, but the girls had heard Sam's comments and were already dashing over. Six long, impressive strides in stilettos and they were hanging off his arm. Ruby was in a blood red little jumpsuit, while Jessica was in pure white.

"Sam!"

" _Sam_! You're alive! Did Dean's di-"

Dean frowned and pushed Ruby off Sam's arm when she tried to go in for a kiss, growling under his breath. "Ruby. Status report."

"Party favors...check!" Ruby leaned back, pointing at the bar. A wall of boxes had been set up, most likely full of alcohol. "Food, check. Guest list, check. Anyone you don't want getting in?"

"Just the Wesson and Winchester corps tonight. No one else." Dean said, shaking his head. He was about to bemoan his choice in celebration when his eyes caught on Sam. The younger man was smiling at the bar's room, dimples flashing. That was it. Sam was worth it.

"Dean Winchester, is that you making moon eyes over there?"

Ruby and Jessica scattered as Ellen Harvelle entered the room, walking straight towards Dean. She looked even more relaxed than usual in a green shirt and jeans. Sam straightened and stood tall, inclining his head slightly in respect. Dean just smiled lazily.

"Ellen,"

"Don't 'Ellen' me, boy." Harvelle said, smacking him lightly with her bar rag. Sam gaped as the man took it without protest. "You're dating this tall drink of water for  _weeks_ and I hear bupkiss about it?"

Sam almost took a step back as Ellen turned to him, a broad, motherly smile across her face. "You must be Sam. Nice to meet you, sweetie."

"It's a pleasure, ma'am." He said softly, smiling back. He decided he liked whoever could put Dean Winchester in his place without a weapon-and the smile lines around her eyes were nice. "Thank you for hosting the party tonight."

"Oy, and he's polite!" Ellen turned back to Dean, a hand over her heart. "You need to bring him around more often. Actually, scratch that. Let Jo marry him."

"Mom, how many times do I need to show you my wedding ring before you stop trying to sell me off to creepy men?"

Jo walked in through the banquet doors, an irritated look on her face. She saw Sam and Dean standing next to her mother and paled instantly.

"...but if those creepy men are Sam and Dean, I'm sure that's okay…"

"Weapons in the bucket." Ellen sighed, pointing at the barrel sitting next to the door. Jo huffed and walked over, pulling a little S&W and throwing it in. "Boys, that means you too."

"Better watch out for the one in my pants-hey!" Dean winced as Ellen's hand caught the back of his head while he was trying to whisper to Sam. " _Ellen_."

Sam snickered, leaving his lover behind as he made his way to the bucket. He threw in a simple pair of knives and a slim beretta, glancing down the barrel in amazement. There had to be a good decade's worth of rusty knives and broken guns in the bottom.

"So, is Luke coming?" He asked Jo conversationally, getting a snort in reply. "That bad, huh?"

"He's not exactly happy with me working for Dean." She said, crossing her arms. Ellen had Dean's ear in her fingers and Sam was going nowhere near that scary lady. "He thinks I'm doing illegal stuff."

Sam blinked. "...you are?"

"That's not the point. He thinks I can't handle it."

"Well, he's wrong." Sam smiled at Jo, flashing a pair of dimples. "So, who's all coming to this party?"

The street outside was almost dark when the first of their respective organizations started showing up. Gabriel and Castiel dragged a heavily medicated Benny Lafitte in through the front doors. They deposited him in the nearest chair and reminded Ellen that pain medication and alcohol  _so_ did not mix (Gabriel's words) and that Benny was to remain seated for the night (Castiel).

"Sammich!" Gabriel ran to hug Sam after leaving Benny, catching him around the middle and almost tackling him. "I missed you!"

Sam laughed, petting Gabe's hair lightly as he almost tipped over. "You just missed having someone listen when you talk."

Gabriel made a face at Castiel over his shoulder. " _Someone_ doesn't appreciate my sense of humor. Thank God you do, Sammy."

Sam gently placed his lieutenant down and put a hand out, shaking Castiel's firmly. "Thank you for everything, Castiel."

"It was my honor," the lieutenant said, inclining his head. Sam smiled awkwardly, unused to the formality. Gabriel would sooner eat vegetables for a week than bow to Sam. "Are you well?"

Sam felt a hand slide around his waist and smiled at Dean. "Much better, thank you."

"Good." Castiel said, moving away. He ignored the bucket and Ellen's purposeful stare, standing guard at the door. Dean sighed and shook his head.

"That is a prime example of someone who needs to chill. Big time."

"Got a plan for that, Dean-o?" Gabriel asked, slyly throwing in his two pistols with a wink at Ellen. "'Cause I do."

"Oh?" Dean looked intrigued. "Maybe we should sit and... _discuss._ "

"Maybe we should."

* * *

Nine o'clock came and went, and things were starting to get interesting. About 200 of their men and women had shown up, reluctantly turned their guns in and partied.

Ellen had supposedly ran out of beer around eight, but Gabriel had shown up with a couple cases of beer that nobody could identify. He also brought a couple bottles of smirnoff with a wink at Dean. Sam shuddered at what that insinuated, sending a worried glance Castiel's way. The lieutenant still stood at the door, watching the party with a blank expression.

Around nine-thirty Dean took the stage, more than a little tipsy as he stumbled around the microphone cords. No one in the Winchester camp seemed surprised, which made Sam snort to himself. It seemed like everyone could count on Dean being the scariest, toughest boss in Chicago-and the drunkest, adorable sap he was underneath all that.

"Hey everyone!" Dean said into the mic, getting an encouraging scream in response. "What a great night, huh?"

The crowd cheered, and one girl managed a  _marry me, Dean!_ as they made an incredible amount of noise for 200 people. Sam watched Dean blush, winking at the screamer. "Sorry, babe. I'm taken."

Ruby stood up, roaring. "Damn straight, Winchester!" She nearly tipped over in her heels. Sam had watched her do shot after shot of rum without passing out, and was close to amazed. Where the brunette was putting it baffled him. Thankfully Jessica was much more sober, and pulled her girlfriend away from some scary looking hitmen who were drinking next to her.

"Right, right," Dean said into the microphone, nodding at Ruby. "Well, y'all might be wondering why we're having this party. You shouldn't be."

"Unless you were living under a rock the size of Guam last month," Benny muttered under his breath next to Sam. "Scratch that. The size of Guatemala. Wait, which one is bigger? I hate drugs. I wanna say Guam but I know I'm wrong..."

"My boy Sam survived that bastard Gordon's attack, and he's back with us instead of snoring like an oversized sasquatch back in m'bed." Dean said, pointing out Sam in the crowd. All of the cheers focused on him, and Sam found himself flushing slightly. "So we're gonna drink to him tonight, yeah? Alright!"

He stumbled off the stage to another round of cheering and deposited himself into Sam's lap. Sam, enjoying the couch Dean had pulled in for them, allowed him to lean back. The smaller man smelled like whiskey and smoke, and he just breathed it in for a second.

"Hell yeah!" Gabriel screamed, pumping a fist in the air as he traversed the crowd. He had a rumchata bottle in his other hand, and it almost overbalanced him. "Fuck Gordon!"

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "How many people know he's my second in command?"

"Hopefully few." Dean said, watching Gabriel crowdsurf with him. "I think he bummed some drugs off Benny earlier."

"That would explain some of it...but not all." Sam laughed to himself. "It's weird how things can change so quickly."

"For the better." Dean said firmly. He bopped him on the nose, staring into his eyes. "You're too sober for this conversation. I'm getting shots."

Ellen was at the bar when Dean rolled up, ten or so minutes into working the room, already depositing a glass of water in his hands. "What the hell, Ellen?"

"It's for your boy." She said, pointing. Dean turned around and found a circle of people around their table. Almost the entire room was jonesing for a position. He couldn't see Sam, which sent instant panic through his veins. he grabbed the cup of water and stumbled back to the table.

Sam was sitting across from Castiel, two rows of shot glasses between them. Gabriel sat on the table like the little gremlin he was, a referee whistle in his mouth. A pile of empty shot glasses and two bottles of smirnoff were discarded on the other side of the table. Sam looked determined. Castiel just wiped his mouth, gaze fierce.

"And...round two!" Gabriel's whistle went off, breaking the silence that had grown in the past thirty seconds. Cheers began as Sam and Castiel started at opposite ends of their shots, taking the tiny glasses and throwing them back. "C'mon Sam, make me proud."

Dean pushed aside some foot soldiers he recognized and shoved his way into a nearby seat. Sam didn't seem to see him, intent on finishing his line. Castiel was looking nauseous on his sixth shot, blue eyes bleary and bloodshot.

"Come on, Cas." He urged his lieutenant, catching his eye. "You're Russian. You can do this."

Castiel sent him a glare which clearly said  _just because I am of Russian descent it plays no difference in my intoxication levels_ but he was too busy taking his seventh shot to vocalize it. Sam, however, was almost done, Gabriel watching him eagerly. He finished the eighth shot and Gabe threw a flag into the air, whistling away madly.

"We have another winner! Sam Wesson, smirnoff heavyweight!"

Dean caught Castiel as the other man listed, surprised to hear giggles coming from the other man. Sam waved to the crowd, grabbed Cas from Dean and dragged them both back to the couch. The two men collapsed to the sound of cheers.

"Dean! De _an_!" The crowd was chanting. Gabriel grabbed his arm before he could run back to Sam, dragging him over to the chair Sam had vacated. "Uh…"

Ellen was shoved into the chair across from him, and Dean felt the blood drain from his face.

"Three, two, one. Go!"

* * *

Dean woke up face down on the bar, his right cheekbone throbbing incessantly. The wood of the bar top stuck to his skin, sticky with god knows what. He pulled himself up with a groan, blinking at the light that flooded the banquet room.

All around him people were passed out, slumped in chairs and across tables. Ansem and Andy were laying together on stage, both of them wearing...pink tutus? Ruby was a heap of hair and fabric in the corner, a bottle of tequila in one hand and a bottle of glitter in the other.

Dean jumped off the bar, stumbling as his feet made contact. Where was Sam? He tried to frown and his cheekbone protested with blistering pain, making him wince. A quick touch with his hand found extensive bruising and swelling. Blood came away from what apparently was a split lip, though how he had gotten both injuries remained a mystery.

He finally found Sam on the couch he had left him on the night before, curled up uncomfortably close with Castiel. Dean was about to rebuke the lieutenant in front of the entire room when he saw Sam's peaceful face, and the nonthreatening hand Castiel had over Sam's shoulder, blocking the boss and pressing him into the couch so nothing could touch him.

"Castiel."

"Hnf?" The lieutenant twitched, almost toppling off the couch. Sam snuffled at the intrusion and was quickly quieted by a blind pat from the other man. Baffled and humongously hungover, Dean shook his head and stumbled back to his spot on the bar.

Ellen, miraculously, was there with a fresh pot of coffee. Saddened at the loss of his sleeping spot, he held out a grumpy hand and received a mug of the steaming liquid. Head throbbing, he downed it without a care for the temperature. "What the hell... _happened_  last night?"

"Well," Harvelle said cryptically, pouring herself a cup. "What do you remember?"

"I remember doing shots with you. That's it." Dean rubbed his forehead with both hands, avoiding the large bruise on his face. "Wait. Who hit me?"

Ellen was massaging her temples when he glanced up, and if he looked closer he could see lipstick smudged on her neck. "Castiel hit you."

"What? Why?"

"Well, from what I remember, you were trying to kiss Sam and he thought you were an attacker." Ellen made a face. "So he hit you and you got mad and started throwing shit. Then you took a nap on my bar."

Dean blinked slowly, trying to process the words. "Did he and Sam…?"

"No. From what Gabriel was slurring at four, he was just protecting Sam 'in case Dean came back'."

Ellen finished her coffee and groaned as someone pushed open the doors, sending a squeaking noise through the bar. Luke Milton stood at the entrance, the only one completely dressed and angry looking.

"Where the hell's my wife?"

Ellen pulled her shotgun out of the bar with one hand, the other still on her mug. "You wanna repeat what you just said to your mother in law? In a nicer tone?"

People were beginning to stir at the intrusion. Luke paled at the sight of a hungover Ellen with a weapon pointed at him. He raised his hands up. "I just wanna see Jo."

Harvelle pointed wordlessly at a heap in the other corner. Jo was wearing someone else's dress shirt and a tie around her head, slumped against Benny's leg. The other lieutenant seemed to be the only person awake besides Dean and Ellen, calmly loosening his sleeve. He paused, a syringe in his hand as Luke's eyes fell on him.

"It's...ah….medicinal."

"Jo!" Luke ran forward, pushing the injured lieutenant out of the way. He patted her face none too lightly. "You alive, baby? You alright?"

"Who the-Luke?" Jo squinted, batting Luke's worried hands away. "Get-get off me! Jesus."

She stood, wobbly in her heels, and immediately found her way to the bar. Ellen already had a mug ready for her, and it seemed the Harvelle women had done this song and dance many times. Dean processed this slowly, one thing still on his mind.

"Hey Ellen, who won last night? Me or you?"

She tossed a cellphone onto the bar, ignoring Luke's presence at Jo's side. Dean took one look at the lock screen and blanched. Both rows of shots were gone, but Dean was in a fairly daunting kiss with Ellen and both of them were wearing...lipstick?

He touched his mouth again and terror went through him. Not a split lip after all then. "We... _made out_?"

"If it's any consolation, you felt terrible about it and tried to tell Sam right away." Ellen said, grabbing the cell phone before Dean could delete the photo. "That's when you got hit."

"BANANAS!"

Dean almost dropped his coffee at the sudden scream. "What the  _fuck_ was that?"

"UNICORNS-NO, NO CASSIE DON'T! UNF-VEGETABLES! GUNTER! PLEASE!" Gabriel's voice shattered the silence again, coming from underneath Sam and Castiel's couch. "NO! GUNTER! THOSE ARE  _MINE_! LLAMAS. PLEASE, HE'S ONLY A LLAMA-BABY…"

The look on Luke Milton's face as Gabriel's screams devolved into sobs should have been framed and on the wall in Dean's office. He took another look at his watch and turned to Jo. "I gotta go, babe."

"At least gimme a ride home." Jo grumbled, pushing a clump of blonde hair out of her face.

"Not looking like that. I have the squad car today. They'll think I'm picking up hookers."

Jo and Ellen smacked him at the same time. Dean was about to join when Gabriel screamed again.

"PANCAKES!"

"Jesus fuck, why the hell is he screaming?" Dean finally asked. "Is everyone else hearing that? Please tell me you're hearing that."

Benny sighed from over at the other table, pupils blown to illegal sizes. "He has nightmares. About candy. And he sleeptalks. It's been happening since he passed out at five thirty."

Sam and Castiel continued to snore on the couch, as did the rest of the bar's occupants. "Then Sam needs to fire him. ASAP."

"He's a good second in command. Besides, he outdrank all of us last night." Jo mumbled, not even looking up at Luke booked it out of the bar. "He got some 100 proof shit from India and did three shots.  _Benny_ passed out after one."

Benny shrugged from his place at the table. "I'm on morphine. Gimme a break. You wanna get gutshot?"

"If I had my gun-"

Ellen broke in. "Only person allowed to have a gun in here s'me. Y'all idiots know why."

Dean looked around at the chaos they'd caused and agreed wholeheartedly. "At least no one threw up."

"Shit, Winchester!"

Jo joined her mother. "Fuck. You jinxed it."

"What?" Dean asked innocently, turning to her. "I didn't do anything!"

The sounds of retching immediately filled the room. Dean groaned and followed the sounds to Ruby, still slumped over in the corner. Jessica held her hair back as she puked into the trash can, looking mighty hungover herself. "Shit."

"Just get your people on cleaning," Ellen said, putting her head in her hands. "And I won't say anything."

* * *

Sam woke to something warm pressing into his back. He snuggled back into it, pressing his face back into whatever he was laying on. Just five more minutes of this and he'd...well, maybe he'd wake up.

"Sam."

"Mhmm."

"You must wake up."

He frowned at the voice, making an unhappy noise as the warmth moved away. "Five more minutes, Deann…"

"I am not Dean."

Sam's eyes shot open, and he immediately groaned at that mistake. Sunlight was streaming through the room, but it was blocked by a shadow. Sam sighed in relief, recognizing Castiel's face. "Oh thank God."

"I am not God."

Sam looked at the lieutenant, then at their position on the bed. "Did we…?"

"I do not remember."

"STRAWBERRY SYRUP!"

Sam almost fell off the couch, steadied only by Castiel's hand. "What the hell was that?"

Castiel slid off the couch and leaned down. With a heft he pulled a still-sleeping Gabriel out. The lieutenant was wrapped around one of the microphones, curled up like a little baby.

"SAMMY, DON'T LET HIM TAKE MY-NO, NO! MR. ELEPHANT I DIDN'T MEAN IT! I JUST WANT THE COTTON CANDY  _PLEASEEEEEE!_ "

"Oh my God, turn that off." Sam put his hands over his ears, wincing. Castiel quickly switched the microphone off and let Gabriel drop to the floor. A cool hand touched his forehead. "Dean?"

Dean was smiling at him, but half of his face was bruised up. "Dean? What happened to your face?"

"Bar fight." He said, flushing. Sam decided to let it go at that. Castiel stood and maneuvered himself over to the bar. Ellen handed him a cup of coffee with a smirk. "You okay?"

"Besides how high my blood alcohol was last night? Yeah." Sam looked at him, then at the slumped masses in the room. "I've officially decided we're never doing this again."

"Agreed."

Meg chose that moment to dash through the banquet doors, drawing more groans from all conscious as they squeaked. "Dean."

Dean groaned and put his head in his hands. "What."

"I found him."

"...Found who?"

"Your dad, fuckwit." Meg said, scowling. "I've got him in the car outside."

Sam watched as Dean paled. "In the  _car_?"

"Please tell me he went willingly." Sam interjected, glaring at his lieutenant. No wonder she'd been missing last night. " _Right_ , Meg?"

It was Meg's turn to pale. "He's  _trained_! What was I supposed to do? Tell him the truth? I didn't want to-"

She quieted as the doors moved behind her, revealing a tall man with dark features. Broken zip ties were around his wrists, and he looked pissed.

"John Winchester." Dean said, only half-questioningly. "Right?"

The man looked him and Sam over.

"Who the hell are you?"


	9. Those Who Pale in Your Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John discovers what Dean and Sam do for a living. Sam and Cas have some fun with a dead body. No, not that kind of fun. Benny and Ruby help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Here's another chapter for you guys! Thanks for all the favorites and the fact that you guys are still reading. The next part of this chapter will go up tomorrow for sure. I hope you enjoy!

**_Before_ **

" _John Winchester." Dean said, only half-questioningly. "Right?"_

_The man looked him and Sam over._

" _Who the hell are you?"_

* * *

_**Now** _

The girl who'd kidnapped him was the only thing on his mind as he burst into the ramshackle bar. A large group of hungover-looking people were filling the musty backroom. He spotted a flash of heels and found the girl talking to two other men and headed that way. Bingo.

"John Winchester?"

John turned towards the speaker, a man with a low voice that rang with authority. He was taller than him, blonde and almost girlishly pretty. An even taller man stood next to him, fox-slanted eyes looking him over carefully. "Who the hell are you?"

The girl who'd captured him snorted, then immediately clapped a hand across her mouth. She looked at the original speaker and his silent partner, head turning respectfully to the ground. So these were the men in charge, then.

"My name is Dean." The blonde said, taking a step forward. Something about the motion seemed familiar to John, though he couldn't say why. The name struck his chest funny. "Dean Winchester."

Everything seemed to come to a screeching halt in that moment. A roaring started up in his ears, fueled with images of a tiny little blond-haired boy, all green eyes and crooked teeth.  _Dean_.

"…Dean?"

His son tilted his head sideways, a cruel expression warring against a smirk. "Hey, Dad. Long time no see."

His son. His  _son_ , the one he'd left behind god knew how many years ago. What were the odds?

"You…you were supposed to be—the fosters-" John struggled to get the words out of his mouth. The taller man, an unreadable expression on his face, whistled sharply. A good hundred people filed out of the room without question, making John even more anxious as they passed him.

"Who—what-"

"Well,  _Dad_ ," Dean said, moving to the bar in the corner of the room. He grabbed a mug of coffee, drinking from it. "You should know how those things don't always work out."

Who was this quick-talking sarcastic man in front of him? John studied him quickly, over and over again. Marine training pointed out the predatory lope, the light calluses on his palms. The way his gaze skittered over John, focusing on the silent man to his left. "I…I didn't know."

"Sure."

John flinched as Dean spoke. "I'm  _sorry._ I didn't know, Dean. I would have come and-"

"You would have what? Come and gotten me?" The pain on his son's face, that was an expression he knew well. It was on both of their faces the night they realized Mary wasn't coming back anymore. "You wouldn't have done jack shit, Dad. You're too busy worrying about yourself, aren't you?"

John reeled back at the words, horrified. "Dean…What are you even doing in this bar with these-these people?" He gestured wildly at the woman who'd taken him. "They're  _criminals,_ for chrissakes!"

An awkward silence filled the room. Glances were exchanged between Dean and the silent man. The latter nodded after a second as something was communicated.

"I'm done with this. Meg, with me." Dean didn't look at him and stalked out of the room, taking the little devil he'd tackled earlier with him. John felt his knees waver slightly underneath him, unable to process anything. Dean.  _Dean._

A firm hand guided him into a wooden barstool, the sound of the chair skittering across the wooden floor breaking the eerie silence. The silent man from before joined him, perching languidly across another barstool.

"John Winchester."

"Who are you?" He asked suddenly, knowing this man had answers. Begging be damned. "Please. I just saw my son again. I don't know what's happening."

He bit down on the anger inside of him, knowing revolting against this man wouldn't bring him anything but pain. He suspected the reason Dean left was fairly similar. "I…I didn't know."

"I believe you." The man cracked a small smile, hair overshadowing those damned, all-seeing eyes. "My name is Sam."

"Are you—are you a friend of Dean's?"

"…in a way."

John narrowed his eyes. "That isn't an answer, son."

"I'm not your son." Sam said simply, lip curling. He shifted his gaze from John, looking over his shoulder. "Dean's upset. It's expected."

"How the hell are you supposed to know?" John took a look around him, feeling for once the pain in his bloodied wrists. The one Dean had called  _Meg_ certainly had a sadistic streak. "Did you—did Dean arrange for me to be taken here?"

"Yes." Sam said plainly. He grimaced, pinching his nose suddenly. "Ah, Jesus."

"What? Are you okay?"

The boy grimaced again. "I'm just powering through the worst hangover of my life, thanks. And yes, he wanted you here. Meg just didn't listen to my orders… _exactly._ "

"Your orders?"

Sam nodded at him, hand dropping from his face after a moment. "Mine."

"Oh." John got the sudden impression he was terribly, terribly out of his depth. The need to find Dean and apologize seemed to outweigh most of that fear, but it was still potent. He was starting to, slowly, understand. "And…Dean's?"

A thoughtful expression crept onto Sam's face. "Maybe you should speak to Dean first. This whole 'scare your dad and walk out' thing was a terrible idea, though, granted, you came after a wild night."

John frowned as a hand pushed him out of the chair, motioning him towards a door. Sam looked down briefly at his cell phone, guiding John through another set. They walked down the sidewalk, passing the trunk Meg had kept him in.

A few blocks down and they were looking across an empty warehouse lot, the dilapidated structure taking up all of John's attention.

"Wait, what-" John bristled as Sam opened the door for him, motioning him into the warehouse. The taller man's cell phone went off as they entered a fully furnished lobby. "Holy-"

"Dean?" John's ears quirked at the sound of his son's name. Sam was nodding next to him. "Yeah, I've got him. You done? Uh huh. I'll meet you in the basement. What? No, I think it's a great idea. Yeah. Kay. Bye."

John's eyes widened as they went up a grand staircase to the left of the lobby. This was expensive stuff and  _Dean_ owned it? Owned  _all_ of it?

Down another carpeted, well-furnished hallway was a wide, open-concept set of rooms. A small receptionist's desk sat in front of the door, an equally tiny blonde in a borrowed shirt sitting at the chair.

Sam had mentioned a wild night, after all, but John couldn't help staring. Was that blood on the shirt?

Dean was at a wide desk in the room Sam led him into, dressed in an expensive three-piece suit and chewing on the end of a pen John knew was twice as expensive as the entire outfit combined.

A mess of papers was scattered across the polished desk, each letterhead more prestigious looking then the last. John studied them quickly, his mind reeling as it processed the names: The old crime families of Chicago. Dean looked down at them, strong features narrowed. He looked absolutely in control, powerful even, staring them down.

"What is this?" John barked, not managing to startle his son in the least. Fear was curling in his chest. The old families. Chicago politics. "What the hell is this?"

"What does it look like, Dad?" Dean sighed, picking up one of the letters with a calloused hand. "It's a criminal organization."

John had considered this, oh so briefly, then dismissed it. It was outlandish. Dean's gaze was unwavering as he said the words, and there was no correction from Sam. John sat down heavily in one of the chairs in front of the desk. "What?"

"You heard me." Dean shuffled a couple of the papers, a dissatisfied look on his face. He finally addressed Sam, who'd been silent up until now. "The families aren't happy."

"Why would they be?" Sam asked, a touch of humor in his voice. This pulled a chuckle out of Dean. "What are they demanding now?"

"Money, safety. More of our land. The usual." Dean wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Not a single treaty. None."

Sam joined him silently at the table, looking through the papers. Dean's dark suit was a sharp contrast to the casual white dress shirt the taller man was wearing, but somehow it made them even more mysterious. Alien. Why their fashion was more important to John's overloaded brain than Dean's most recent revelation baffled him. His son was involved in organized crime-no, not  _involved._ Running the damn show.

The revulsion he felt about that overpowered any pride he could have felt.

"They're too dumb for diplomacy." Sam said eventually, turning to Dean. "You wanna know what I think?"

John shivered as the two stared at each other, something building in the room. "What?"

"Don't deal with them." Sam threw the papers back onto the desk, leaning closer to Dean. "Teach them a lesson. I had liaisons in Russia who used to do this all the time…"

John felt himself flushing as the taller man whispered in Dean's ear, forced to watch his son's face twist into an expression of glee. "Sammy, you're a genius."

"I know." Sam stood in one lithe movement, flashing a pair of dimples. "Want me to take Cas?"

"Please."

Sam hummed, winking at John as he walked out the door. Then they were alone.

"...Who's he, your second in command?"

Dean snorted at John's guess. "Hardly."

"I thought you were running things." John said, only to get a noncommittal noise from his son. "So…"

"So." Dean kicked his feet up onto the desk. "Dad. How's the last thirty years? Where've ya been?"

John swallowed, knowing excuses wouldn't help him here. "Michigan."

"Michigan." Dean said flatly. God, the expression on his face made him look so much like his mother it made his chest hurt. "Have fun?"

"Don't talk to me with that kind of tone, boy." John felt the fear twist into anger, though he was still so very much afraid. "You think because you're wearing a thousand dollar suit and you wrangled some guns for hire, you think you can talk to me like that?"

"You know  _nothing_ about me." Rage grew behind Dean's eyes, but the other man let it simmer. And that was when John knew he was in trouble. "Nothing."

"I raised you-"

"You wanna talk to me like that?" Dean said quickly, dismissing whatever he was going to say. "Fine. But don't you ever,  _ever_ insinuate that  _any_ of this is my fault. I  _suffered,_ but you know what, Dad? I pulled myself up, and it's  _great_."

John saw ice in his son's eyes, years and years of it, and the angry words he was about to say died on his lips.

"...what happened to you?" He asked, stunned, voice barely above a whisper. "Dean…"

"Foster care, homesless shelters. Juvie, Prison." Dean shrugged, pushing back from the desk. "Doesn't matter now, does it?"

"Dean-"

"I'll have Gabriel show you around. And out." Dean opened the office door, not looking at him. Another lieutenant stood at attention behind it. "And then you can decide what to do from there."

"Dean-" John tried, but he was pulled from the room with a firm hand by the assistant. "Dean, I-"

"Glad we had this chat, Dad." Dean smiled mirthlessly and slammed the door.

* * *

Sam and Castiel stood looking at Gordon's dangling body, the lieutenant a respectful foot behind his boss, hands clasped. Slowly, back and forth, Gordon's limp form swayed. For the life of him, Sam couldn't make a decision.

"You think he's alive?"

Castiel stepped forward, peering upwards. "I think it's...likely."

"But you can't tell." Sam made a disgruntled sound in the back of his throat. "Usually this is easier when they're dead already."

"I have seen it done both ways," Castiel said solemnly. "The end result is the same."

Sam smiled at his tone. "My father's men called you the  _Baba Yaga._ Do you remember?  _Boogeyman_ , translated. Now I know why."

"It is an incorrect translation." Castiel replied. He moved to stand directly under Gordon to check for breathing. "I think I see his chest moving."

"Damn." Sam said, biting his lip. He hadn't wanted to ruin the room (or his clothes for that matter) but if the bastard had held onto life for this long, he deserved it. "Alright. I guess we're doing this the Russian way after all."

Ten minutes and some disgusting body contact with Gordon later, Walker's near-dead body lay across one of the meat grinder tables in the back. Deep in unconsciousness from starvation and dehydration, not to mention his injuries, the man probably wouldn't wake up until it was too late. Sam briefly wished he had a camera, just to capture the look on Walker's face when it did happen.

A thought came spinning back to him after a minute.

"How much  _does_ Dean know about you?" He asked Castiel conversationally, grabbing the bone saw from Dean's kit. "My father had a file, and I was...curious."

Luminous blue eyes met his, unblinking. "He knows of my American activities, and to some extent, my others. Not in detail. He never asked, and I never told."

Sam hummed as he leaned forward, making the first cut. He finished it quickly, smirking to himself as he saw Castiel's eyes glaze over. Dean wasn't the only bloodthirsty one in the Winchester empire. He looked down at his clothing. "Wrong day to wear a white shirt, huh?"

"Indeed."

* * *

Benny heard the screaming from his bed and, while it wasn't overly unusual to hear at the Winchester-Wesson household, he was curious. Ruby was currently perched on Sam's abandoned bed and reading a magazine. She frowned at his attempt to stand.

"Leave it. Probably just Gordon whining for Dean to come back again."

"It sounds different." Benny said, instinct guiding him to the door. "Sounds like Gordon's in a lot of pain."

Ruby rolled her eyes. "What, and you're gonna go help him out?"

"No. I'm gonna go watch." Benny grinned at her, beckoning. "C'mon. I know you're just down here so Sam doesn't put you to work."

Ruby rubbed her temples and discarded her magazine, following him into the hall. "Easy for you to say. You don't have the hangover from hell."

"Whine, whine." Benny poked the back of her neck, making her shout. He dodged her slap. "You didn't sound like this last night when you were dancing on the bar and making out with Chuck."

"Wait wait wait-" Ruby grabbed for him again, but gut shot or not, he was still faster. " _Chuck_? Benny Laffite, you better come back here-"

Benny evaded her sharp nails, coming across the basement door a few seconds later. It wasn't like they were going to miss it, considering the screams were probably echoing upstairs as well. However, by the time Ruby caught up and they pried the door open, the screaming had stopped.

Sam and Castiel froze where they were standing over Gordon Walker, locking eyes with Benny. A long-handled bone saw was in Wesson's hand, while the lieutenant held an assortment of amputated fingers. Both of them were drenched in blood. It was across their faces, staining their clothes and in their hair.

"...hey." Sam said eventually, breaking the awkward silence. He flashed them a quick smile. His teeth were flecked with blood. "..How..how are you guys doing?"

"Please tell me that's Gordon Walker." Ruby said, walking over with a grin. She pressed herself into Sam's side. "Gross. His intestines are showing."

Castiel and Sam's faces soured instantly. "Dean's bone saw is dull." The lieutenant informed them unhappily. "It..slipped, occasionally."

The expression of deep disappointment on the man's face made Benny crack up. He had to bend over as pain filled his gut, but he just kept on laughing. "Oh my God.  _That_ 's the problem with this situation?"

"Gordon was alive earlier. Cas had to hold him down." Sam added helpfully. He gestured at the large smear of blood down the lieutenant's clothing. " _Now_ we're pretty sure he's dead. Three parts left to go."

Castiel nodded. "He held on for a long time. Ridiculous."

"Oooookay." Benny raised an eyebrow. "What's this for, anyway?"

Sam smirked, something that was usually fairly scary. Now that he was covered in blood, it was downright terrifying. "We're sending a little message to the families. Wanna help?"

The boss held out the bone saw to Benny, who took it after a second. He looked down at Gordon's corpse. "Alright. Head it is."

" _I_ wanted the head!" Ruby complained immediately.

"Tough. He didn't shoot you."

"I'm getting his dick then."

Benny recoiled. "Ruby-"

Sam slapped a blood palm across his face. "Children, children. Stop arguing."

"But Saaaaaaam-"

"I've got a hangover.  _Don't_  try me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Liked it? Let me know what you thought! The next chapter will be up tomorrow...:)


	10. Run This Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gordon finally becomes useful. Sam and Dean work through some issues. A character betrays the team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Here's the next chapter! Thanks so much for the reviews! Hope you enjoy this next chapter. The last one was a little short :/

**_Before_ **

_"Oooookay." Benny raised an eyebrow. "What's this for, anyway?"_

_Sam smirked, something that was usually fairly scary. Now that he was covered in blood, it was downright terrifying. "We're sending a little message to the families. Wanna help?"_

_The boss held out the bone saw to Benny, who took it after a second. He looked down at Gordon's corpse. "Alright. Head it is."_

_"I wanted the head!" Ruby complained immediately._

_"Tough. He didn't shoot you."_

_"I'm getting his dick then."_

_Benny recoiled. "Ruby-"_

_Sam slapped a blood palm across his face. "Children, children. Stop arguing."_

_"But Saaaaaaam-"_

_"I've got a hangover. Don't try me."_

* * *

_**Now** _

Gabriel took Dean's pseudo father to the infirmary first, bandaging his bloody wrists with a never-ending stream of chatter. He talked when he got nervous, so he informed John Winchester about the weather, how the Green Bay Packers were doing (terrible as usual, the northern bastards) and gas prices in Chicago. Random, sure, but Dean's dad was scary. Despicable, but scary. Gabriel also (gracefully) maneuvered around the subjects of Sam and Dean, because you didn't get one without the other.

"So here's the gym…" He said, thirty minutes into the worst tour of his life. Winchester was down to grunts at this point. "Dean comes down here to punch the bag when he doesn't have an Italian to hit…"

That got John's interest. The ex-marine's head shot up. "He hits Italians?"

"Have you  _seen_ those fuckers? Argumentative, belligerent. Not willing to cop up to a fucking deal if it was shoved down their throats." Gabriel took a breath, reminding himself who he was talking to. "Nothing against the people themselves. I'm sure they're nice."

"And Sam?"

Gabriel slowed his pace, frowning. "What about him?"

"What does he do?"

Here was the dilemma. Gabriel liked his job. More than that, Gabriel liked being in Sam's good graces. The fact that Dean had reacted so badly to his father's visit meant the whole daddy thing was a sore subject. On the other hand, the poor sap knew nothing about what his son (and partner) had built. The mastery they had over the entire town, effortless intimidation and grace, built into two men who loved each other more than...candy, or something.

"Sam owns the business with Dean." Gabriel said carefully, stepping around titles or insinuations. "He was formidable on his own, but...he and Dean found they worked better together." Lord knew they were all grateful the two had gotten together…

"He's-he's a mafioso too?" John asked, the most interest he'd had all morning. "He's barely  _twenty_!"

"He also knows six different ways to kill you with his pinky finger,  _and_ he was pre-law at Stanford." Gabriel said, offended. He pointed at John. "I wouldn't mess with a man who can kill you  _and_ have his alibi hold up in court."

"So Dean is the weaker partner?"

Gabriel wrinkled his nose. John's business instincts were deplorable. "No. I wouldn't say that at all. They have their own strengths. It's why they work so well together."

"What do you do?"

"I'm Sam's second in command."

Winchester nodded. "Who are the other lieutenants?"

"Ah ah ah," Gabriel danced away from that question, leading the older man further down the hallway. "I see what you're doing. You wanna get into Dean's business, you talk to him yourself. I'm just supposed to show you around."

"What am I supposed to do after this?" John asked irritably, working to catch up with Gabriel as they power-walked down the stairs. "You and Dean keep mentioning it, like I'm supposed to  _stay_ here."

"What were you doing before this, then?" Gabriel asked, knowing but mildly curious how John would answer. "Why'd you leave Michigan?"

John's silence answered the second part of the question, and so did his poor attempt at lying. "I had a job...over on 27th."

"Bullshit. You were working under the counter at Macie's." Gabriel said, watching the man's eyes widen. "Yeah. You think we didn't know about that?"

"You had-Dean was looking into me!" John retorted angrily, changing direction, ostensibly to stalk back into Winchester's office. Gabriel caught him around the waist, pulling him back with all he had. "Let go of me!"

"No.  _Jesus_ , you're almost as stubborn as your son." Gabriel manhandled Winchester into the wall, pressing him there. "Gordon Walker. You heard of him?"

"No."

"Crime- _former,_ crime boss of Chicago. Well, he knew about you. He caught wind of your name." Gabriel paused, staring the man in the eyes so it stuck. "He hated Dean. So he got you that job at Macie's, and he kept you under his goddamned thumb."

"That's not true."

Gabriel grinned, less than a smile. "You were leverage against Dean. So don't goddamned tell me I don't know what I'm talking about. That kid has built  _empires._ And now you're holding him down, John."

John's face was white, and the expression on his face almost made Gabriel feel bad for him. "I…"

"So, you can go back to your job, Johnny boy," Gabriel lifted his arm, letting John go and moving away. His mood shifted instantly. "But we'll be watching. And I'm going to make fucking sure you're not leverage to that poor kid any more."

The fact that John stumbled backwards, away from him, cemented how hard those words had struck the man. He fixed Gabriel with a new look, like he'd underestimated him the first time around. "...Fair."

"Good. Wanna go find Sam and Dean?"

"...Why not."

* * *

Sam went up to Dean's rooms to change, covered in enough blood that even he was a little uncomfortable. Castiel had disappeared a half hour earlier, clearly not bothered in the least by the gallons of the fluid he was drenched in. Sam made a note not to mess with Castiel in the near future.

Dean was at his desk when he came in. Sam smiled and hefted his package a little higher, carefully avoiding the door and walls so he didn't stain then. His partner was staring intently at something in the computer, frown lines forming in between his eyes.

"Hey."

Dean looked up, surprised. His eyes quickly flicked over Sam's body. "He-wow. That's a...a lot of blood, Sammy."

Sam shrugged. "You should see Cas."

"I don't think I want to." Dean stood, rubbing his eyes as he turned away from his computer. "Is that what I think it is?"

Sam looked down at his box, approximately the size of a medium-sized cake. "Yep. Everything else is already on its way, but I thought you might wanna ship this one yourself."

"We can drop it by Gordon's HQ later," Dean said, rubbing his forehead again. It didn't go unnoticed by Sam.

"What's wrong?"

Dean blinked, dropping his hand. "Nothing."

"You're a shitty liar." Sam placed the box carefully on Dean's desk. He grabbed his hand, neither of them freaked out by the blood. "Cmon. Tell me what's bothering you."

"It's John." Dean admitted, looking down. "I don't know what the hell to do with him. I don't know what the hell to even  _say_. He  _left_  me, and now he's suddenly back?"

Sam moved to pat his back and thought better of it. "It sounds like he's working through some stuff."

"Yeah? Tough shit. We all are."

"What are you worried about? Him not...staying?" Sam tilted his head. "Or him not approving?"

"I don't give a damn if he approves." Dean said vehemently. "I don't even really want him to stay either."

"So what's the problem?"

His partner sighed, leaning into Sam. Their foreheads brushed, smearing blood across Dean's skin. "Something wrong. I can feel it. Gordon should have never brought him into this world. Why he's in Chicago baffles me even more."

Dean's instincts were rarely wrong, Sam had discovered, so he took the words to heart. "Do you want me to find out?"

"Maybe...I don't know." Dean closed his eyes with a sigh. "I just wanna lock the door and keep you in bed for a week."

Sam pressed a soft kiss into the corner of Dean's mouth. "We'll find a way to deal with John then."

"What did..." Dean's face twisted as he worked through the thought. "What did you do with your own father?"

Sam's face closed off instantly, the taller man stepping back from Dean. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Sam-"

The boss' eyes narrowed. "It's not your business. Our fathers are so different, you have no idea."

"But-"

"I'm taking a shower. I'll take care of that package when I'm done." Sam said coldly, moving towards the back rooms and cutting off whatever conversation Dean was trying to have. The boss threw up his hands, groaning.

"Dean?"

He stopped whatever swears were about to come out of his mouth, spotting his dad in the door.

"What do  _you_ want?"

John had a strange expression on his face. "Dean, I just wanna talk."

"You know what? No." Dean stood, stalking over to stand next to John. "You can leave. First you fuck up things with Gordon, now my boyfriend's mad at me-"

"Wait.  _Boyfriend_?"

Dean froze. John's face was twisted up, the beginning of a familiar anger dawning on his face. Dean knew that kind of anger. He saw it a lot for two years after Mom had died. The one where John didn't like something-beyond that, really-when John  _disapproved._ Something in his heart crumpled, and he felt like a little boy again, staring up at his father.

"Boyfriend." Dean said firmly, thinking it through. "What, are you telling me you thought Sam and I were just close for funsies?"

"I don't even understand what's coming out of your mouth." John admitted, anger still twisting his face. "I don't  _know_ you. You did something with the Dean Winchester I knew."

"The Dean Winchester you knew is dead. You abandoned him on the streets three decades ago." Dean snarled. He pushed John's chest, getting an alarmed look from his father as it pushed him back a step. "The only reason you're here is the fact that you share my name, and, unfortunately some DNA. You think I'd have time for you otherwise?"

"Family is blood. No matter what." John snarled. "We take care of our own."

"...Until we don't anymore." Dean raised his hand, then lowered it slowly. He patted John's shoulder, shaking his head. Anger was thrumming through him, but all he could feel was numbness. "You can leave."

"Dean, you can't continue on this path."

Dean shrugged, moving to return to his seat. He grabbed a bottle of blue label from the bottom drawer and poured himself a glass, ignoring his father. "Sorry. Thirty years too late."

"Dean-"

Finally having enough, Dean twisted in his seat and pulled his gun out of his waistband. John froze as he found the barrel of a gun pointed at him.

"Hey Dad." Dean smiled, using his other hand to swirl the whiskey. "Nice seeing ya. You can show yourself out."

"Dean-"

Dean flicked the safety off. "Did I fucking stutter?"

"You wouldn't shoot your father." John said, though he was backing up. Fear was clear on his face, but there was something else there. Something Dean knew would cause him trouble in the near future. "Not your own father."

Dean smiled, not giving a damn what the elder Winchester thought. "Good thing I don't see one standing in front of me."

He saw the effect those words had on John. His father's face closed off, and the other man turned to leave. Pausing at the doorjamb, he turned back to lock eyes with Dean.

"I'm going to help you, son. I swear, I'll get you out of this."

Dean chuckled, throwing back the rest of his whiskey. As if John thought he could fix this.

"Good luck."

* * *

Castiel took a strange sort of pleasure in delivering the cut-up pieces of Gordon Walker. Knowing the man was gone and couldn't harm Sam or Dean gave him a sense of peace; knowing the man had suffered terribly was the icing on that feeling.

The parts had been placed into elegant white boxes after being carefully cleaned. Sam and himself had taken care of most of them, assisted by Ruby and Benny when they weren't bickering. The rest of Gordon went into the river when they were done.

The remnants of Rowena, Elkins and Roman's organizations were given the hands and feet in equal pieces. The Italians got his male anatomy, a snide joke Sam had made Castiel didn't understand. The other low-level families or up-and-comers, as Dean called them, received ribs and his leg bones. For Gordon's organization, Sam would deliver them the head personally.

Benny came with him as cover, though the other lieutenant probably shouldn't have been exercising as much as he had with his gunshot injury. They left the packages quickly and methodically, but the little white boxes were clearly in sight. The families would discover them soon, and it might cause all-out war-or exactly what Sam had intended it to be: a mass cowing of the forces under the Winchester-Wesson sphere of influence.

All they would have to do was wait and see.

* * *

"Ma'am, a package arrived for you."

Rowena looked up from her fainting couch, waving a hand. "Place it on the bureau, dear. Has it been swept?"

The maid inclined her head, depositing the cream-colored box on the sidebar. "Yes ma'am. Once by the scanner and twice by the dogs."

"Lovely. Bring it over, then."

Rowena outstretched her long fingers, smiling wider as the box slid into her hands. It was quite heavy and...weighty. An alabaster bow tied it shut, giving off an aura of elegance and expense. She wondered what it could be-another gift from an admirer? Earrings? She untied the bow gingerly, delighting as it unraveled.

The maid stumbled back into the room at the sound of her lady's scream, followed by a shuddering thump. On the ground the white box was open, splattered with blood. A fleshy lump of  _something_ sat in the middle, grotesque. It looked like a portion of a man's hand, missing most of its fingers.

"What does it say? What does it  _say_?!"

The maid paled at Rowena's panicked tone, taking a clattering step backwards. "What does  _w-what_ say, m-ma'am?"

Rowena was fanning herself from across the room, cowering behind the couch. She pointed with a shaking hand to the floor. A thin white paper was discarded next to the box.

Startled, and unable to get a response out of her mistress, the woman stooped to read it. It had three simple words engraved on the thick, creamy paper.

_An outstretched hand._

_-S.W., D.W._

* * *

Gordon Walker's organization sat in their basement, largely disorganized and slowly beginning to lose hope. A small white package sat in the middle of the table.

"I'm kinda scared to open it."

Leslie snorted. "Open the damn thing, you pussy."

"If Gordon was here, he'd shoot you for your insubordinance." The lieutenant retorted, mustering his strength. "Maybe it's a message. From Gordon."

"That's the spirit."

He pulled tentatively at the box's fastening, watching it fall open in fascination. For a second he couldn't comprehend what sat in front of him. Leslie's scream broke the room, followed by a collective, horrified intake of breath.

Gordon Walker's butchered head sat in the middle of the table, covered in blood. His empty sockets stared blindly at the ceiling, flecked with even more red. All of his teeth were broken, the white shards of shattered molars stuffed into his mouth. A small white card sat underneath the broken folds of flesh around the boss' neck.

_A message, and a warning. Don't try us again._

_-S.W., D.W._

* * *

Dick Roman sat staring at the box in front of him. A thick white bow held the cardboard together. He knew what was in there, though he didn't want to tell his second in command. He hadn't believed it when he'd gotten the phone call earlier. He didn't want to believe it now.

"Just open it." Edgar said from his left.

That wasn't enough. "Who delivered it?"

"It just appeared."

Dick frowned. "And you swept it?"

"Three times, sir."

Venturing a guess, Dick pulled at the bow. The box slid open, revealing something red. A second later his mind caught up to what that red color meant, half a second behind Edgar.

"Puta de  _madre_!" His second in command stumbled backwards, holding his mouth. "What the fuck? What the  _fuck_?!"

A pair of glassy brown eyes, complete with brain stem, stared at them between folds of tissue paper. Dick felt his stomach churning and pulled away from the box. God, the  _smell._

A small card sat at the bottom, tucked beneath the paper. Dick read the lettering, feeling a wave of nausea overtake him.

_Always watching. Be good._

_-S.W., D.W._

* * *

Sam sat at Dean's desk, swiveling in the chair. The wall of televisions was on, covering a breaking story.  _Unidentified male corpse, found in Chicago river. Investigation ongoing._

What was the point? The answers to the cops questions were inches from their noses, but the families would never turn them over. Not if they knew what was good for them.

It seems that they did. The phone had been ringing off the hook, filled with calls of fealty and deference. With one body they'd ripped apart Chicago. Imagine what they could do with twenty.

"Hey?"

Sam looked up from the screens, spotting Dean in the doorway. "Hey."

"How's it going?"

He pointed at a stack of papers on the edge of the desk, smirking despite himself. "Those were faxed over in the past hour."

Dean walked in, grabbing the pile of paper. He flicked through them quickly, an impressed look on his face. "These are all real?"

"You've got Chicago bowing at your feet." Sam said, smiling. "You're welcome."

The other man swung forward, catching Sam in a tight hug. They almost tipped over the chair, saved at the last second by Sam's long legs propping them up. Dean laughed, pushing a hand into Sam's hair as the other man grinned even more. "You're a genius. A goddamned genius."

"I give all the credit to Castiel." Sam said immediately. "He did the dirty work."

Dean's grin didn't change. "Nice pun, Sammy."

"Oh, so it's Sammy again?"

The mood soured slightly. Dean looked up at Sam, not daring to pull away.

"...I kicked out John."

"You what?"

"I kicked him out. He found out about us, started babbling about 'curing' me, keeping me from you criminals." Sam's mouth tightened as Dean spoke. "He's not worth driving a wedge between us. I'm sorry about what I said earlier."

Sam thought it over briefly, then leaned back into his lover. "You're forgiven."

"Good." Dean pressed a kiss into his mouth, deepening it after a second. Sam yielded, then pressed back. He put his hands through Sam's hair, gripping him tighter to him. They were riding so high, Dean could taste the blood and energy of it. Sam growled deep in his throat, pushing them back onto his desk, and,  _God_ , it did something to him.

The TV screens continued their news coverage as Sam climbed the desk, Dean beneath him. What a night it was that, when the phone rang, neither of them bothered to answer it.

* * *

Luke Milton had been getting panicked calls ever since the Chicago PD had announced the John Doe in the river. Panicked phone calls, out of all the types he received on a daily basis, were the worst. They were unintelligible-often paranoid, delusional or some mix of the two.

His phone rang for the fifteenth time since seven a.m. had passed. Growling, he dug his hand into his pocket and fished it out. Unknown number. Of course.

"...Milton." Luke answered.

A hushed, panicked voice came on the line. "You a cop?"

"Sir, this is a detective's private number. Make it quick."

The man coughed, breaths coming hurried. "I have information. I need to confess."

"Confess to what?" God, please let it be the John Doe in the river.  _Actually, on second thought, please no. Like I need more legwork today._ "Can I invite you into the precinct?"

"You need to meet me. I need to tell somebody this." The man said. "No one will believe me. You have to believe me."

"Can you tell me what's wrong, sir?" Luke asked, squinting. He waved off Hannah as she tried to bring another file in, pressing the phone closer to his ear. He growled at the reception and put it on speaker, miming to be quiet to Hannah,

"It's about Dean...Winchester. And his partner." The man said hesitantly. "I have incriminating evidence against him."

Hannah started next to him, mouthing  _Dean Winchester_ at him like she'd just gotten double Christmas. Luke felt a fission of fear go through him. But they had to check this out. Putting away Dean Winchester? It would solve all his problems if it was done right. He took the phone off speaker, eyes locked with Hannah.

"Is there somewhere we can talk, sir?"


	11. Heaven Ain't Close (In A Place Like This)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go back to normal...until evidence against Sam and Dean is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Here's this week's chapter! I hope you guys are still reading and enjoying. Here's a little drama for you.

"So, what now, Boss?"

Sam and Dean continued to eat, ignoring Gabriel's question. Castiel kicked his leg under the table, giving him the  _look._ After weeks of working with the other lieutenant, Gabriel was very familiar with the  _look_. In basic paraphrasing, it meant  _shut up or I'll rip your balls off_. Something like that. He  _was_ paraphrasing.

Sam chewed thoughtfully, eventually trading a look with Dean. "I don't know."

"Well, we had over 20 land concessions last night," Dean added, smiling and winking at the poor waitress who came over to refill his coffee. "Thanks, sweetheart."

Gabriel saw Sam's eyes narrow briefly. Trouble in paradise? He hoped not. Job security was a beautiful thing. "Smooth, Dean."

The boss scowled at him. "Shut up."

"These concessions," Castiel decided to speak up from his corner of the diner booth. "Did they include the Walker organization?"

"Correct." Sam took another bite of his omelet, pointing the fork at Gabriel. "Now, I guess it's just...business as usual. Keep the corners running. Maybe consolidate our assets."

" _Assets_." Dean said childishly, winking lewdly at Sam. Neither lieutenant lifted a finger as the boss smacked his partner. "Hey!"

"You're being a child," Sam replied, glancing at him. "Look, you even have food on your face."

Dean quickly wiped away the stray piece of strawberry, presenting his face for Sam to inspect with a smile. Wesson batted him away.

_Jesus._ Gabriel thought.  _Lovebirds._

A few more minutes into their late, impromptu breakfast and Castiel still hadn't touched the short stack in front of him. Sam and Dean were not-so-subtly playing footsie under the table, ignoring the two lieutenants.

When the cats finally got up to go to the bathroom (together! go figure. what on earth would they be doing together in there?) Gabriel smirked and slid over to the lieutenant.

"Why the long face, partner?" He made sure to stay well away from the other man's personal space, but close enough to remain annoying. It was his specialty. "Better yet, why the full plate?"

Castiel looked down at his short stack, complete with a whipped cream smiley face and cherries. "I do not understand it."

"Don't understand it?" Gabriel felt his heart twitch. He was going to have a heart attack. Maybe it was just an arrhythmia. "How do you not understand  _pancakes_?"

"It isn't my customary breakfast food." Castiel replied softly, not looking at Gabriel. "Also, Dean ordered it for me. Isn't it...dessert?"

This briefly shattered Gabriel's world. His heart was having palpitations at a thousand miles an hour. "Well,  _yeah,_ but that doesn't mean you can't eat them for breakfast! That's like saying you can only have Christmas cookies on Christmas!  _Nobody follows that rule_!"

Castiel sighed at his outburst, a resigned look on his face. "Instruct me on the proper consumption if it means so much to you."

Gabriel nearly catapulted out of his seat. "Really?"

"I must eat  _some_ of it before Dean returns." Castiel looked up, meeting his eyes innocently. "Do you think he will return soon?"

The struggle to not burst out laughing at the lieutenant's naivete was monumental. "I think Sam will keep him...occupied."

"Good." Castiel nodded and looked down at his plate like it was an alien life form. "Why  _is_ it called a short stack?"

"Because it's short. Like me." Gabriel leaned in, handing Castiel his sliver ware. "Try it."

The lieutenant wouldn't budge. "Short in comparison to what?"

"The normal stack."

"What quantifies a 'normal' stack, then?"

It was Gabriel's turn to sigh. "Just take the goddamned fork, Cas."

Castiel still refused, his nose scrunching up. "Only Dean calls me that."

"You're stalling." Gabriel held the fork and knife out, indicating for him to cut.

"Fine." Castiel cut into the pancakes with perhaps a  _bit_ too much force. He dropped the fork and looked expectantly at Gabriel.

"Now you eat it, Cas."

"I-"

Without thinking, Gabriel grabbed the fork with the pancake and shoved it into the other man's mouth. Before Gabriel could blink and contemplate what he'd just done (and what Castiel was going to do to him) the piece disappeared into the lieutenant's mouth. He chewed slowly, contemplative.

"Well?" Gabriel asked shakily, holding on in vain to his earlier confidence.

"It's...very sweet." Castiel's eyes were wide, and very blue in that moment. They stared at each other. "You eat this every day?"

"Uh-huh." Gabriel said, staring back. He'd had a whole speech planned, but for the life of him he couldn't remember it. "Want another piece?"

"...Yes."

* * *

"Twenty bucks says they get together by the end of the month." Dean said, peeking out of the bathroom door at the lieutenants. "It's so happening."

Sam, who was tucking his shirt back into his pants, frowned. "Gabe flirts with anything on two legs, Dean. Don't get ahead of yourself."

"Doesn't mean it's not gonna happen." Dean closed the bathroom door, taking a moment to appreciate the marks on Sam's neck. "C'mon. What are you gonna cough up?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Money means nothing to you. 'sides, I don't wanna bet on them." He moved to leave.

"Okay, okay." Dean held his hands out, brushing Sam's chest as he tried to stop him. "How about the winner gets topping privileges for a month?"

He watched with a smug smile as Sam's pupils dilated instantly.

"...fine. Then I bet on the end of next week."

"You're gonna lose, bitch. No way tension builds that quickly." Dean teased, following him out of the bathroom. "Your fly's open, by the way."

Sam grumbled and zipped it surreptitiously, ignoring the eyes that followed them. "I know my lieutenants. You'll see."

"I-"

"See what?" Gabriel asked, overhearing from a few feet away. "Enjoy your little fifteen minute trip to the bathroom?"

Dean's lips pursed. "Enjoy having your dick attached to your body, Gabriel?"

"Whoah whoah, hey!" Gabriel threw his hands in the air. "Sam, he threatened me!"

Sam ignored him, glancing across the table. "How's your short stack, Castiel?"

The lieutenant smiled. "Very good. Thank you."

* * *

They returned to the warehouse after breakfast, Sam to take a nap on Dean's bed and Castiel and Gabriel to do whatever it was when they weren't needed. Dean decided to push out some paperwork, John Oliver playing softly on the screen in front of him.

He got some more concessions logged, and the usual legitimate bills sent out. Sam's snores trailing in from the other room made him smile as he worked.

"Dean." Jo's voice buzzed through the intercom a few hours later, slightly strained. He immediately put his pen down, listening intently.

"Yeah?"

"You've got visitors from Poughkeepsie." He heard muffled voices correcting her. "No, sorry, the-"

Poughkeepsie-Their code word for the police. Dean leapt to his feet without answering, patting himself down. A gun and a knife were all he had on him. Both went into the locked drawer hidden in his desk. He pressed the button on the phone; less than ten seconds had passed.

"Do they have a name?" he asked, stalling for time.

"Uh-" Jo sounded flustered now, a subtle note of panic in her voice. Dean didn't answer, kicking the bedroom door open. He flashed a quick  _5-O_ to Sam. "No. Sorry."

Sam caught onto it instantly, flying out of bed. He grabbed the stack of concession papers from the dresser and shoved them into Dean's hands.

"Why don't you show them in, Jo?" Dean asked, crumpling the papers into the hidden drawer. When that was done and locked, all they could do was stare at each other. Dean caught Sam's gaze and steeled himself.

"I love you."

Sam smiled, but he looked nervous too. "Don't be dramatic."

A second later the door slammed open, five officers bursting in. Leading them was none other than Luke Milton, a gun and badge in his right hand. They both put their hands up, acknowledging the officers. One last look, and everything went to hell.

Before Dean could blink, Milton had Sam in a hold, shoving him onto the desk. Dean heard a crunching sound and then a small moan of pain, knowing Sam was trying to remain docile. Damn Milton. Damn him to hell. He wanted to rip his  _throat_ out. He saw red when Sam's slumped body was pulled up, blood spurting from his nose and cuts on his cheekbones. His right eye was already pink and swelling.

"Milton." Dean growled, jerking as another agent handcuffed him. "You better have a goddamned  _mountain_ of evidence to justify this."

Anger shuddered through him as Sam was led away in chains, slumped in the agents' hands. Luke smiled that smarmy, sleazy smile of his, walking towards him with another pair of leg shackles.

"Dean Winchester, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in the court of-"

Dean felt the leg shackles attach to his legs and growled over Milton's little glory speech. "I'd like the court to know Sam Wesson was taken into custody with brutal force his arrest didn't require, causing multiple lacerations to his face and without being read his Miranda rights at the-"

A boot slammed into his solar plexus, crushing all of the air from his lungs. Milton looked at the other officers. "You hear something?"

"No sir."

"Wesson resisted arrest. Force was used to contain him and protect our officers. He sustained facial injuries by resisting. Yes?"

Another officer nodded. "He hit himself on the floor."

"Perfect." Milton strode out the door, dragging Dean's chains with him. They passed a terrified Jo next to the doorway, tears streaming down her face.

"Dean…" Jo's puffy eyes met his. A new bruise reddened the side of her face. "What do I do?"

"Call Cas." Dean swallowed his panic, forcing the words out as he was dragged away. "Get him to call Crowley. Have them bail us out."

"Dean. Dean, it's going to be okay-"

Milton slammed the door shut a second before Dean felt another kick. He saw Jo's face morph into an expression of horror and tried to turn. Then everything went black.

* * *

Castiel and Gabriel were in the basement conference room when Jo ran in. Gabriel had to catch the frantic woman, tottering on her heels like she was still drunk from the previous night.

"Jo, what the hell-"

"They-Sam and Dean-they're in jail!" Jo sobbed, barely getting the words out. Gabriel lifted her to her feet, patting her back so she'd breathe. "Luke just c-came in and a-arrested them. He h-hit Sam really bad and he was bleeding and then he knocked Dean out and he said to get you and  _C-Crowley_ and-"

"Whoah. Calm down." Gabriel wasn't really paying attention to her, though. He traded a horrified glance with Castiel, already planning for the worst. "I'll go bail them out. I'm assuming you know who Crowley is?"

"A lawyer," Castiel said, a shrewd look in his eyes. He moved towards the exit. "I will meet you at the precinct. Get Meg and Benny to go with you."

It seemed Dean's second in command had taken over duties, and rightly so. Gabriel hauled Jo after him as they exited the opposite door, cursing loudly. "Shit, shit  _shit_!"

Jo seemed to be getting a hold of herself, albeit slowly. They took the stairs in double-time, hand in hand. "The charges can't stick. They  _can't_. Not with all the shit Luke just p-pulled."

Gabriel huffed a bitter laugh, out of breath as they took the third flight up. "Don't take this the wrong way, honey, but your husband is a real asshole."

Jo sniffed. "I know."

* * *

Sam woke up face down and in a lot of pain. It took only a few second to remember everything that had happened. The would-be lawyer inside of him recoiled at the lack of police procedure Milton had. He remained as still as possible, using the time to orient himself and think over their story. He could only hope Dean was doing the same.

First things first. He hadn't been read his rights. Actually, he hadn't even been addressed at all beyond getting his face slammed into Dean's nice oak desk. Miranda rights were one of the first things he'd learned about. For someone to exclude it in an arrest could mean throwing the entire case.

A case. A case against him-and Dean. But where had they gotten the evidence? Brutality aside, Milton didn't have jurisdiction to just break in and arrest people. They had to have someone-an informant, a source of some sort. John? Some corner worker? Maybe a rogue family, brave enough to face up against their two empires. They would pay for it regardless. Sam would make sure of it.

After a good ten minutes of thinking he pulled himself into a sitting position. Whoever had thrown him in the holding cell hadn't bothered placing him on the bed, leaving him sprawled against the stained concrete. Sam touched his nose gingerly and recoiled, feeling a nauseous pain echo through him. Dried blood covered his entire face. Broken for sure.

He used the small sink in the corner and got most of it off without touching the ruined cartilage. It was fairly swollen, but Sam had broken his nose before. With a quick prayer he cracked it back into place, groaning as he felt the bones grind against each other. Christ, did that hurt.

Milton would be back soon, there was no doubt. Sam wouldn't be surprised if their sentencing hearing got bumped up to this afternoon. Things seemed to have a way of working out in the police's favor in jail, it seemed.

Sam got on his moldy bed and leaned his head back to relieve the pressure, slowly planning.

* * *

Crowley reclined in his leather  _settee,_ a glass of scotch in one hand. He'd just gotten off the phone with Dick Roman, of all people. It had been a perpetual chorus of  _No, Dick, I'm not suing them for you_ and  _stealing what's stolen doesn't make it anymore legal, you idiot._ Rich people were an unbearably vain, stupid group. Rich people with extensive power were even more despicable. Unfortunately, the two were usually one and the same.

His phone rang, breaking into his annoyed musing. He glanced down at the caller ID, knowing it would be Roman calling back. He had half a mind of picking up and just  _whaling_ on the poor sod. He knew a lot of dirty secrets about a lot of people. How was he liable if he let slip Roman's mistress was sleeping with his second in command? These things just came out.

"Crowley."

"Alastair." A hurried voice said, instantly familiar. "I need your help. It's an emergency."

Crowley tilted his head, trying to place the voice. It was on the tip of his tongue. "Is this who I think it is?"

"I have no time for games, Crowley." Ah, so it  _was_ Castiel. "Dean Winchester and Samuel Wesson have just been arrested by Luke Milton, Chicago PD. I need you to take this case."

"I don't just do pro bono for  _anyone_." Crowley replied, irritated at his impudence. He took another sip from his drink. Castiel, of all people. The nerve.

"You will do this."

"Do you know how much my services go for these days?" Scandals, cover ups. Mistresses. He knew how to handle them all, and handle them  _discreetly._  Problems didn't just go away when he was dealing; they  _disappeared._

"I don't care." Castiel rebutted, his voice icy. It gave Crowley pause. "I'm calling in my favor. Meet me at the precinct in ten minutes."

Crowley was already googling it on his IPhone, though the short bastard didn't need to know that. "I don't take orders."

"Nine minutes, Crowley." the lieutenant hung up, leaving a buzzing tone in his ear. Crowley grabbed the directions and his briefcase. His heart was beating a little faster.

Maybe this would be interesting. Maybe it would even be  _fun_.

* * *

Benny watched Gabriel pace the precinct waiting room nervously, counting each step in order to distract himself. There was no way this was ending well. He prayed it was just a petty drugs charge or something inane like that. Something that would get them the hell out of here and that they could settle outside of court with a bunch of hush money. Anything.

Castiel joined them only a few minutes after they arrived, hair mussed but otherwise unflustered. He joined Gabriel for a quick pow-wow in the corner, muttering softly to him. They spoke cautiously, head inclined so the milling police officers around them couldn't hear. More than a few glances were sent the entrance's way, like they were expecting someone.

"We're fucked." Ruby kept saying, head in her hands. Meg sat next to her, feverishly going over their liquid assets on her phone, of all things. "We're so fucked."

"Keep your voice down." Jessica hissed at her girlfriend, at the same time looking over Meg's shoulder. "Are you on the  _police_ Wi-Fi?"

"Yeah, so?" Meg asked, eyes still flicking across the screen. "You know how much data costs, sweetheart?"

" _Police Wi-Fi._ As in, a thing they can  _review_ if they want to!" Jessica closed Meg's browser with a tap of her finger. "Sam's got enough dough. We can handle this."

Their mystery guest chose that moment to arrive, drawing Gabriel and Castiel's attention right away. He was a shorter, stout man in an elegant three-piece suit that flattered his stature rather than hiding it. He had a trim beard and most of his hair, which was more than Benny could say for most lawyers.

In his hands were a briefcase and a couple papers. Benny moved closer to hear what he was saying to the other lieutenants.

"- to be bad news. They're not out on bail 'till our favorite circuit sets it. My guess is it's in the millions." The lawyer had a strong British accent, hints of some other dialect straining over it. "We're going to court in half an hour. I called a friend of mine at the court offices. They're probably not gonna let them go."

"What the hell do they have on them, Crowley?" Gabriel asked, a fierce tone overlaying his usual sarcasm and care-free attitude. "They've gotta have something big if they're breaking in and beating the shit out of them to get them downtown."

"Repeat that."  _Crowley_  said, pulling a yellow legal notepad from his briefcase with superhuman speed. "I also need to speak to any witnesses."

Castiel inclined his head. "I'll retrieve Jo."

"Meet us at the courthouse,  _ангел_." The lawyer said, hefting his briefcase. He pointed at Gabriel. "You. Shortie. You're coming with me."

"Let's go."

Castiel passed Benny and the rest of them as their group fanned out. "We're going to court. Go back and lock everything down."

Benny paused. "Everything?"

"Everything." The lieutenant said firmly. "I formally take over Dean's place until he is able to reclaim it."

"I second." Benny said numbly, wondering how it'd ever come to this. "We'll meet you at the courthouse. Sir."

Castiel nodded and left them. Ruby and Jessica grabbed Meg and they headed outside to hail a taxi, silent where they usually would've been talkative. The loss of their leaders seemed to shake everyone, including Castiel.

They could only hope Sam and Dean would make it out okay-everything depended on them.

* * *

Dean woke up in a holding cell, which was a big surprise. His head was still throbbing from where Milton had kicked it, but it was barely a whisper against the screaming anger he felt inside himself. He failed; he let Sam get taken, get injured. Their businesses were going to fall apart if any of Milton's undoubtedly outrageous charges stuck.

"Winchester."

Dean grunted as his name was called, not moving.

"Winchester."

He looked up, spotting a greasy guard outside of the bars. "What?"

"Your lawyer is here to see you."

_Lawyer?_  He thought, then remembered. Crowley. "Send him in, Kronk."

The officer grinned. "Nice try. You're going to a meeting room, asshat."

Dean got off the gross bed and held his hands out expectantly, getting another pair of handcuffs before the guard would let him out. He frogmarched him as much as one man could down the hall, pausing at a small room. Sure enough, Crowley sat at a table inside.

"Fergus." He said loudly as they walked in, letting the guard take off the shackles. Crowley was already glaring daggers at him. "Fergus McCloud."

"Say it a little louder. I don't think the rest of cellblock B heard you." The lawyer hissed. His face was turning tomato-red as he spoke. "I fucking take your case, and this is all I get for it?"

"You're pissed because your mom named you 'Fergus'." Dean rationalized, sitting down in front of him. "Don't hate the players, hate the game."

Crowley's mood didn't improve. "You're insufferable."

"What's our diagnosis, doc?"

The lawyer glanced at the guard still standing in the room, because that was  _totally_ legal. Even Dean knew about client-lawyer privileges. "They've got something big."

"I assumed." Dean lowered his voice. With a small gesture he flipped into rudimentary Russian, something they'd both picked up working with Cas. "Is Sam alright? Have you seen him?"

"They're trying to flip you." Crowley said, barely a whisper. Their guard looked confused at the different language, but not concerned. "Sam's not budging. You've got court in twenty minutes. I'm not even really supposed to be here."

"I won't take the deal. Sam won't either." Dean said, believing it himself. "We have money for bail. It's not like it's going to be a problem."

"That's not what I'm worried about." Crowley said, flipping a paper onto the desk. A glare at the guard kept him from looking too closely. "Their key witness. I bribed it out of one of the DAs."

By  _bribed,_ he probably meant  _threatened,_ but that wasn't Dean's business. He saw the name and went utterly, utterly blank. "Holy shit."

"I know."

"He doesn't-he didn't see anything." Dean said, stumbling over the verb form. "I made sure of that. God, this is all my fault."

"It doesn't matter if he saw anything. If the man  _thought_ he saw a drop of blood on your third floor carpet, Milton would arrest you." Crowley tapped the paper. "I've got defenses. I've got tricks. But I need you to let me play dirty. You're gonna have to face the fact that you two aren't getting out tonight."

"Okay." Dean breathed, glancing at the regulation clock on the wall. Time was running out. "What else?"

"Give me a week till your next hearing. I've got something big to drop on them, but the lead prosecutor's gonna try and cut my balls off if I try. I need security." Crowley leaned forward. "After this I disappear. No more favors. No more Crowley."

"Only Fergus, then?" Dean joked, switching back to English. He thought about it for just a second. "If you do that-and promise to keep Sam safe-then it's a deal."

Crowley shook his hand, standing. The lawyer gathered all the papers, but all Dean could do was sit and stare. The file slipped back into Crowley's briefcase, but Dean could still see the name in bold. He felt something churn in his stomach, but what emotion it was seemed beyond him.

_**Testifying Witness: John Henry Winchester.** _


	12. Putting Out Fire With Gasoline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean go to their arraignment. Something is revealed about someone they probably really hate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Wow, it's been too long. Are any of you guys still reading this? I had the luck of cutting my finger pretty badly while I was typing this out, so I apologize for the delay. Dictating fanfiction is just bizarre.
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and don't forget to leave a comment and let me know what you thought! This chapter is dedicated to gothpandaotaku :)

_**Before** _

_"We have money for bail. It's not like it's going to be a problem."_

_"That's not what I'm worried about." Crowley said, flipping a paper onto the desk. A glare at the guard kept him from looking too closely. "Their key witness. I bribed it out of one of the DAs."_

_By bribed, he probably meant threatened, but that wasn't Dean's business. He saw the name and went utterly, utterly blank. "Holy shit."_

_"I know."_

_"He doesn't-he didn't see anything." Dean said, stumbling over the verb form. "I made sure of that. God, this is all my fault."_

_"It doesn't matter if he saw anything. If the man thought he saw a drop of blood on your third floor carpet, Milton would arrest you." Crowley tapped the paper. "I've got defenses. I've got tricks. But I need you to let me play dirty. You're gonna have to face the fact that you two aren't getting out tonight."_

_"Okay." Dean breathed, glancing at the regulation clock on the wall. Time was running out. "What else?"_

_"Give me a week till your next hearing. I've got something big to drop on them, but the lead prosecutor's gonna try and cut my balls off if I try. I need security." Crowley leaned forward. "After this I disappear. No more favors. No more Crowley."_

_"Only Fergus, then?" Dean joked, switching back to English. He thought about it for just a second. "If you do that-and promise to keep Sam safe-then it's a deal."_

_Crowley shook his hand, standing. The lawyer gathered all the papers, but all Dean could do was sit and stare. The file slipped back into Crowley's briefcase, but Dean could still see the name in bold. He felt something churn in his stomach, but what emotion it was seemed beyond him._

**Testifying Witness: John Henry Winchester.**

* * *

_**Now** _

Sam stood in the defense's holding pen, remaining perfectly still. The chains on his hands and ankles jingled with every twitch, and he wasn't giving the crowd of media and gawkers in the public benches any more of a show then he needed to. The bruises and swelling on his face sure weren't helping, but he had the added benefit of standing a good head above the rest of the courtroom as it was.

Speaking of, the room was already filling up with important-looking lawyers and bailiffs. People rushed around the room with papers, cameras flinching towards anything that might be part of the story. Sam kept his head down, solemn, but the eyes of the room remained on him. He wished for Dean suddenly, knowing things would be better with the other man.

"Sam?"

He turned slightly towards the lilting voice and found a smaller-looking man, dressed in an impeccable suit. A vicious look flickered in the man's eyes, like a lion gearing up for a pounce. The demeanor and clothing added up. "You must be my lawyer."

"Crowley." The man held a hand forward, then rethought this as he spotted Sam's chains. He cracked his knuckles briefly, startling a nearby secretary. He grinned at her as the woman shuffled away. "They told me you'd done law school. Remember anything?"

Sam tilted his head. "Only that this is going to be the worst arraignment of all time."

"You've got that right, mate." Crowley sighed, but a sharp smile crossed his face. Sam tilted his head, trying to compile all he'd gathered from the other man. "I spoke with Dean."

"Is he alright?'

"Right as rain, he is. Got himself into a tiff with the cell block guard." Sam hung his head as the words processed, sighing internally. Of course Dean would get into a fight. "Don't worry, nothing serious. You need to get that head up, kid. Think about the charges they're about to bring against you two lovers."

Sam bit his lip, agreeing but still anxious despite himself. He breathed out all his worry about Dean and focused on their cases. "What are we being charged with?"

"Murder in the first degree. Torture, violating penal code 206, kidnapping, kidnapping with intent to harm, unlawful possession of a firearm. Aggravated battery. Racketeering." Crowley listed them off quickly, bobbing his head. "Need I go on?"

"Not all of those are going to stick." Sam said out of the corner of his mouth, feeling hopeful for the first time that day. "What evidence do they have?"

The lawyer raised an eyebrow. "Don't get cocky. They've got Dean's father testifying. Star witness. They're not even considering a plea bargain for you to flip on Dean, which is a bad sign."

Sam felt his stomach drop. He finally relented and put his hands on the row of seats in front, steadying himself. "Jesus."

"Keep yourself together, Wesson," the lawyer growled at him. "There's cameras watching, for christ's sake."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I knew that man was bad news from the start."

"Isn't that the truth. But listen." Crowley's hand found his shoulder, squeezing it tightly. "Luke Milton might have John Winchester and the best prosecutor in the state, but he doesn't have evidence. All he'll get out of that man is debatable testimony. I know Dean. The hard evidence is gone. He'll crumble under my cross examination. I'll make him look like the fool he is."

Sam levelled him with a piercing stare. "You'd better."

The lawyer didn't startle, but he couldn't hold his stare for more than a few seconds. He turned away, glancing at the doors. "Oh, look. Here comes lover boy. Wish me luck."

Dean was led into the pen in chains, the same as Sam. He was unharmed as far as Sam could tell, but there was blood on his fists. The other boss kept his head down until he saw Sam. His expression brightened slightly. The second his disfigured face registered, the smile disappeared.

"I'm going to fucking  _kill_ Milton." Dean was already grabbing for Sam' face, only to get whacked on the head with a legal pad. "Ow! What the hell, Crowley?"

"Keep your _bloody_ voice down. We're in a  _courtroom_!" Crowley hit Dean again for good measure, blocking it from the cameras with Sam's body. "Oh,  _I'm Dean Winchester and I'm just going to blatantly threaten the police officer collecting evidence for my case_ , that's not suspicious at all!"

Sam smirked despite himself, getting a glare from Dean. The other man still handled Sam's face gently, probing at the swollen eyelid and cartilage around his nose. "They give you any painkillers?"

"Nah." Sam shrugged, wincing internally as his ribs twinged. "I'm good. Crowley get you up to speed?"

Dean frowned. "Fuck Crowley."

The lawyer coughed. "That's an extra hundred thousand on my fee, asshat."

"I don't care about money. I wanna rip Milton's-" Dean squawked as Sam kissed him, silencing the angry tirade. They kissed fiercely, hopefully avoiding most of the cameras. From the sound of Crowley's snort, they probably hadn't succeeded.

"Now if only I could do that at will." The lawyer lamented, reading over some papers in his lap. He looked up at Sam. "This is going to be the longest arraignment you'll ever see. And I'm going to make it bloody hard for Michael D'Angelo."

Sam felt himself pale. "Michael  _D'Ange-_ "

"All rise for the Honorable Julian Richings!"

The courtroom stood en masse as the man in question strode in, dressed in the perfunctory black robes. His stern profile caught the light perfectly as he passed the holding pen, looking down at Sam. The taller man was momentarily cowed by the neutral expression on the judge's face, feeling the weight of the chains at his wrists acutely.

Dean shifted to stand protectively in front of Sam, touching their shoulders together. Sam was comforted by the connection, loosening his shoulders and trying to look as innocent as possible.

"Please be seated." Richings said as he took his place at the stand, settling quickly and efficiently. "Case?"

"The court now presents D'Angelo and the People against Winchester and Wesson, your honor." The bailiff called out. The crowds of people in the audience shifted excitedly.

"Please bring the defendants to the stand." Richings waved a bony hand, gesturing to Sam and Dean. Seven bailiffs approached them immediately, grabbing their chains. Crowley walked behind them as they were led to the defense's table, looking effortlessly calm. Sam hoped he looked the same.

"Counsel." Richings began. "Do you waive the reading of charges?"

"I do, your honor." Crowley replied. It was considered offensive, Sam remembered, to not waive the extensive reading. Across the courtroom, Richings directed it to the other table.

"And you, Counsel?"

A slim, powerfully-built man stood. He had dark black hair and piercing blue eyes, matching the cover of Sam's old law textbook perfectly. Michael D'Angelo. The famous prosecutor. "I do not, your honor."

Crowley inhaled sharply next to him, but made no outward movement. The crowd rippled with noise as the lawyer muttered to himself. "Fuck that little shit bugger."

"Commence with the charges." Richings instructed the bailiff. The man read out the list Crowley had described to Sam earlier, keeping it as short and professional as possible. "Defense counsel?"

A series of confusing exchanges commenced, Crowley replying quickly and efficiently. The legal jargon made his head hurt as Sam tried to keep up. A moment later D'Angelo did the same thing, replying in a suave voice that put Sam's teeth on edge. To think he'd once looked up to the man.

"What the hell's going on?" Dean whispered from the corner of his mouth, nudging Sam. "Why aren't they arguing? Why the hell isn't Crowley defending us? I didn't goddamned hire him for this shit."

"This isn't the trial," Sam breathed back. "This is the arraignment. They're deciding if we get bail or not. I think."

Dean made an annoyed sound, relaxing back into his chair. Sam narrowed his eyes at his partner as he tried to put his feet up. It seemed like nothing about the process was bothering him. Considering he'd been spitting angry a few seconds earlier, it was most likely a hastily thrown together, but effective, facade.

"And do you request bail, Defense Counsel?"

Sam's head went up as Crowley answered. "Yes, Your Honor."

The judge's face remained impassive. "Prosecution?"

"We request remanding, Your Honor."

A rumbling of noise erupted from the crowd. Richings banged his gavel a few times, even managing to look emotionless while doing that. "In both cases, Counsel?"

"Yes, your honor." D'Angelo stood, staring across the courtroom. "The severity of the murder and kidnapping charges warrant serious attention. With the funds at the disposal of both the defendants, we consider remanding the only option."

"Isn't this the part where he stands up and yells 'objection'?" Dean hissed in Sam's ear. " _Please_  tell me that part comes soon."

Sam actually rolled his eyes for the second time that day, shifting his chair away from Dean to watch the proceedings closer. "No."

Richings considered this, flipping through a thick file on the stand. He levelled a stare at Crowley. "And the defense?"

"Considering the process of arresting my clients was illegal, I would allege that the police misconduct in the case warrants bail for both my clients." Crowley gestured at Sam's face. "As you can see, my client could be ROR, thanks to Detective Milton's unnecessary and abrasive use of force."

Sam answered Dean's question before he asked it, whispering it in his ear. "Released on recognizance."

Richings narrowed his eyes, but the media had caught the reference to Sam's injuries. "Denied. Name a monetary amount."

Crowley swallowed, moving on to his next point quickly. "$5 million for Wesson, and $15 million for Winchester, Your Honor."

"Prosecution, do you contest your earlier claim?"

D'Angelo shook his head. "No, Your Honor."

Richings nodded slowly, the curve of his cheekbones catching the light eerily. His eyes caught Sam's briefly, something stirring in them. "Bail will be set for Sam Wesson at the requested amount. Dean Winchester will be remanded into police custody until trial."

He banged his gavel decisively, drowning out any objections from Crowley as the man rose to his feet. D'Angelo looked equally angry, but he'd managed a pyrrhic victory. Sam felt everything slow around him as he turned to Dean, maybe the last time for weeks.

A pair of smiling green eyes met his, nothing but reassuring. Sam tried to smile back, only managing to twitch his lips. Dean reached out and squeezed his arm, both knowing all eyes were on them.

 _I love you_ Sam mouthed at him, still in shock. Dean smiled even wider, winking at him. A moment later the bailiffs were leading them away, and Dean disappeared back into the jail's entrance.

* * *

Gabriel watched as Sam was bailed out, paying an extraordinary amount of money in cash for the pleasure of having his boss in their company again. Crowley had stationed him there earlier, briefcase of ill-gotten money in hand. The idea was to get Sam and Dean bailed out and the hell out of Dodge in a few hours. The idea that they wouldn't get both of the bosses out hadn't really occurred to the members gathered there.

Sam was eventually led out, wearing the blood-stained clothes he'd been arrested in. A drawn look was on his face, twisted by the circles under his eyes and broken nose. He looked like he'd been arrested for drunken disorderly. The reality was much worse.

"Hey, Sammich."

Sam followed him blankly out of the building to the waiting car. Castiel was waiting for them back at the HQ, already setting contingency plans into motion. Gabriel looked at the other half of their leadership and wondered, briefly, if Sam was going to pull through.

Ruby drove them back home, for once taking it under 60 on the city streets. Gabriel handed Sam a set of clean clothing. The other man took it and changed without care for his nudity. Gabriel saw Ruby's cheeks redden slightly in the mirror, but she said nothing. Sam looked awful, bruises splattering his chest purple and black. Now wasn't the time.

He could always suggest they break off from Winchester. Take off for Panama under a false name and never return. But he knew Sam wouldn't even consider it. Not when Dean was in jail. The idea lingered, however.

"Thanks," He muttered to Ruby as they got out of the car. Sam was dressed in a slim pair of dress pants and a dark silk shirt. He walked past Gabriel and up the stairs to Dean's office, completely silent.

"Hey…Sam? Kiddo?" Call him cautious and overprotective, but Gabriel really didn't want to find Sam hanging from the ceiling fan in a few minutes. "You alright?"

"Send Castiel up." Wesson replied, not bothering to look back. "And some coffee."

Gabriel nodded, already moving. Coffee meant staying awake. It also meant Sam was planning something. "Right away, sir."

* * *

"I don't think Winchester is taking this seriously."

It was hours after the arraignment had ended, and they still hadn't moved past Luke's front couch.

Michael D'Angelo ignored the detective and tipped his glass backwards, emptying the scotch into his mouth with a grimace. "Where the hell'd you buy this shit, Luke?"

"Bite me. Jo picked that shit out." Milton said, not drinking from his own glass. He was still simmering from the arraignment, probably more eager to get their clothes off and fuck than decompress. "I said Winchester isn't taking this shit seriously. I don't like that. It means he's got something."

"You're damn right he's got something." Michael wiped his mouth, narrowing his eyes at the detective. "Tell me about the arrest."

"The arrest?"

He sighed. "Yeah, shithead. That one time when you handcuffed Winchester? Remember?"

"Fuck you." Milton slammed his hand on the table, good-natured for the most part. They were celebrating, after all. "That arrest went perfectly."

Milton wasn't ready for the open-handed slap he got across the face, because it almost sent him onto his ass. Michael finished his drink as the other man touched his split cheekbone in shock.

"...What the  _hell_ , Mike?"

D'Angelo threw his glass across the room, delighting as Luke's face paled in time with the shatter of the glass. He shoved Milton out of the chair as well, watching the drunken man tumble to the floor.

"What about the part where you  _beat up_  Wesson unprovoked and 'forgot' to read him his  _goddamned_ Miranda rights?!"

"Mike, it wasn't like-"

"I have the goddamned case of the  _century_ here and you beat up on our best chance at taking Dean Winchester down! And then you have the fucking cajones to tell me the arrest went  _perfectly_!" Michael screamed, past red in the face and edging on purple. Milton was drunk and astonished on the floor, a stunned look on his face. "What the  _hell were you thinking_?"

Luke swallowed nervously, eyes wide. "...Mike, I'm sorry."

"You better be." Michael grabbed his coat, forgoing any of their usual goodbyes. "Do me a favor and keep your ape mitts off my case, babe."

The other man just watched him leave, unwavering. Michael ducked out without a second thought, already trying to plan for the next hearing. Screw Luke and his stupid wife. Screw Luke. Just  _screw Luke_. Fuck him. Fuck everyone.

He passed a man in a dark trenchcoat next to the elevator, not thinking anything about it, too caught up in his own anger.

* * *

Castiel found Sam at Dean's desk, his slim fingers fanning between a stack of papers on the wood. The room was still in disarray from Milton's intrusion from earlier, papers scattered across the room. Blood covered the desk, mostly dry in the hours it'd taken to free Sam,

The man in question's head was bent down, hair falling across his face, studying something intently. He looked younger than his years, but the mood in the room gave him an authority the humourous man usually didn't have.

He rapped on the doorframe politely. Sam didn't look up, waving him in instead. "Sit."

Castiel inclined his head and obeyed, watching Sam work something out in the paperwork he was looking at. A series of notes were stapled to the papers, scribbled in Sam's hurried cursive. Dean had always hated notes; he'd kept most of his in his head, which Castiel had always admired. He'd never had the skill himself.

"How are our corners?"

"Working. Nervous." Castiel chose his words carefully. "We are not currently under threat. The families understand that moving now could mean downfall for themselves. None, if any, will choose to get involved."

"...isn't that a relief." Sam muttered, tilting his head. He finally looked up at Castiel. His hazel eyes were very, very clear. "I have intel on our prosecutor and Luke Milton."

"Do you want me to summon Crowley?"

"Please. He should be on his way." Sam pushed back from the table, stretching. Castiel watched him as he typed quickly on cell phone, alerting the lawyer. Sam's shirt lifted up and revealed extensive bruising on his chest. Castiel's worry got the better of him.

"Are you alright? Do you need some painkillers?"

Sam waved him away, sitting with ease. "I'm fine."

"If you insist."

Crowley chose to join them at that moment, Gabriel trailing behind him as they entered Dean-technically Sam's now-office. Sam motioned them both in and they sat. The lawyer leaned forward, sensing the metaphorical blood in the water immediately. Castiel mused darkly on the comparison to sharks it evoked, shaking his head.

"Luke Milton and Michael D'Angelo are brothers." Sam started, his words silencing the entire room. Even Crowley looked shocked. "Their relationship began three years ago when they discovered they were related and adopted separately at the same age."

"They're  _twins_?"

Crowley looked absolutely flabbergasted for a moment, his expression slowly morphing into a cunning smile. "...really, now."

"They're also involved romantically..or so Dean's records show." Sam held up a folder and opened it, revealing a full spread of pictures of the two men in compromising positions. "Apparently he was getting dirt on Milton in case he ever chose to retaliate. Or if he hurt Jo."

"She can't know about this." Gabriel said quickly, voice hushed. All of the men looked towards the receptionist's empty desk instinctively. "It would ruin her. Or embarrass her."

"If we're using it to disqualify Milton's evidence, I couldn't give a shit about the girl." Crowley stood, coming very close to rubbing his hands together gleefully. He reached for the photos. "This is monumental. This could get Dean out in a heartbeat."

"No." Sam quickly pulled the photographs away, tucking them back into the folder. He placed it into the small safe Castiel knew Dean had built into the desk. "I'm keeping them. We're not showing our hand yet."

Castiel spoke up. "I agree with Sam; revealing this prematurely could jeopardize Dean's chances of acquittal."

"But it would  _ruin_ D'Angelo and Milton. They couldn't work again." Gabriel said, playing devil's advocate. Sam nodded at him to continue. "I think we should wait, yeah, but we need to build this up. Get some evidence or maybe some witnesses. Make our stuff solid."

Crowley narrowed his eyes at the shorter man, but seemed to accept it. Sam levelled him with a cool stare, tilting his head. "Well?"

The lawyer smiled, a wide-toothed grin that sent shivers down Castiel's spine. "It's brilliant, moose. I can wait.  _A little._ "

Sam leaned backwards, an equally devious look on his face. He looked hardened around the edges, but he was far from desperate. Castiel felt himself reconsidering his first impressions of the man as Wesson smiled slowly.

"You won't have to for very long."

* * *

Seeing Sam's face as he was led away almost broke Dean then and there, so he pasted a smile on and turned away from his partner. He could have remained locked on him all the way back into the main precinct, but the small amount of fear in Sam's eyes made him want to be brave. Dean squared his shoulders as he was led back to the cell block, ignoring any jeers or dirty looks he got on the way there.

The bailiffs transporting him 'remanded' him to the guards, and he found himself back in his cell. All in all, it could have been so much worse. Crowley setting Sam's bail lower had most likely influenced Riching's decision to let him go-if only the judge knew just how much Sam had been involved. He wasn't bitter, but proud. Sam and his innocent puppy dog eyes and dimples; it made him the perfect criminal.

A few hours later the guards removed him for dinner. The usual hustle around the tables began as cigarettes and other illicit materials were traded. Dean kept his head down and shoveled in the mystery stew, daring anyone to come near him.

Of course, someone did.

A half hour into his meal the local bully came around for his hits. The pimps and the petty thieves handed over whatever they had to the 6'9" behemoth, rolling to show their bellies immediately. Dean ignored the outstretched hand and continued eating his dinner.

"Hey."

He wondered briefly if Sam and him could have phone sex over the phones they had in those tiny glass meeting rooms. It would be more fun than wistfully staring at each other.

"Hey, cockslut. I'm talking to you."

Maybe if they were discreet, Dean decided, it would work. He finally looked up, finding a pasty mess of scars looming near his face. "Yes?"

The man shoved his hand forward. "Smokes."

"Don't got any." Dean shrugged. That was a lie, he had at least two packs in his back pocket (guards were horrifically easy to pickpocket) but the wookie didn't need to know that. "New health craze. It's called not filling your lungs with cancer. You should try it."

"Maybe you should try being nicer." The man growled. "Smokes. Now."

Dean returned to his meal, not looking up. "Maybe you should go screw yourself."

He watched the man's eyes narrow out of the corner of his eye as the ape processed the complex sentence. Just as the man's brain connected with his fist, Dean swung first.

The man's first hit didn't catch him at all, his arm taking the brunt of it. Dean wasn't going to hit back, but the man's screwed up face did something to him, so he did. Then he did it again.

God, but the sight of first blood made him feel a thousand times better. The orc got a good three hits across the face before he could hit back, and Dean ducked his swings with ease when they finally did come. The other prisoners backed up and started hooting and hollering.

The taller man came at him again, swinging once and trying something a little out of his skill level with his legs. Dean jumped around both and slipped behind the man's back, getting an arm around his neck. With a wink at the nearest gawking prisoner he jumped onto the humongous man, pulling it tight into a vicious hold.

"Tap out." Dean whispered into the man's ear, feeling him choke and a little apologetic. "C'mon man, I gotta look good for the press tomorrow."

The man refused to budge, instead ramming backwards into a wall. Dean felt the breath rush out of him but held on, grinning. Ah, those were the ribs Milton had kicked this morning. Nice of them to make a reappearance.

"You're tough." Dean said, not even joking at this point. It'd been about thirty seconds and the man was almost out of air. He leaned forward a little and had the pleasure of watching capillaries in his eyes redden. "Want a job when you're out?"

"Fuck you." The man hissed with the last of his air. Still, he kept fighting.

He grabbed at Dean's hold, fingernails scrabbling into his arms. With a vicious twist, one hand under the jaw and the other behind the ear, Dean broke his neck with a clean motion.

He disembarked gracefully as the man tumbled to the ground, barely avoiding the club of an arm that almost caught him in the ass. The room had quieted completely around him. He raised an eyebrow at the crowd still gathered; apparently, he hadn't been the horse to bet on.

"The hell are you all looking at? Move along."

He heard whispers; lot of curses, some growling. A stray  _who's he?_ and someone muttering  _that's Dean fucking Winchester._ The buzzer went off for them to return to their cells, and Dean's foe was still slumped on the concrete floor. With a shake of his head, he left the room for his cell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N More soon! Let me know what you thought :)


	13. Currahee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finds a way to get Dean out of the clink. Michael D'Angelo figures out that blackmail can happen to anyone, even incestuous douchebags.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Hey everyone! Unfortunately, I've somehow managed to also sprain my wrist picking up a rather large backpack yesterday, so this might be the last chapter for the week. It really sucks. Thanks, however, for all the enthusiasm for last chapter! I hope you enjoy this one.

Bobby sat in the infirmary, keeping careful watch over Jo. The blonde woman was wrapped up in a quilt on the nearest cot, trying in vain to fall asleep. He'd given her enough tylenol to knock out a horse, but the woman, 120 pounds soaking wet, wouldn't give up.

"How's the face?" He grunted, taking the gruff route. Jo merely shook her head, blonde hair swishing from side to side. She remained curled up around herself, looking a lot like some 13 year old teenager after a breakup. She still hadn't spoken. Worried, but unable to do anything, Bobby went to find Sam.

He made it up the stairs, keeping a keen eye on the coming and going in the lobby. There was an unusual flurry of activity, men in suits entering and leaving, carrying packages, briefcases and more.

Sam was at Dean's desk, eyes shut. His hands were under his chin, tilting his head slightly backwards, almost like he was praying. A look of concentration was on his face, belying the dark circles Bobby could see under his eyes.

"Ahem."

Sam didn't move, but his eyes blinked open a second later. "Bobby. How can I help you?"

The doctor entered slowly, looking over the kid carefully before sitting down. Dark circles, paler than usual. A fierce look in his eyes. He sighed, knowing the boy was probably too stubborn to do anything about it. "I'm here to talk about Jo."

"Jo." Sam exhaled slowly, fingers leaving his chin and moving to his temples. He rubbed there slowly. "How's she doing?"

Bobby was gratified to see genuine concern in the man's eyes. "She's okay physically, as far as I can tell."

"But…?"

"She won't talk. She won't move." the doctor sighed, sinking further into the chair. "Someone needs to talk to her, someone who's not me. All I can do is fix her body, not her mind."

"This is about Luke." Sam murmured, as if to himself. He narrowed his eyes, glancing down at Dean's desk. Bobby followed his gaze, unnerved as he found the kid's blood from yesterday still staining the wood. "I'll come down, see what I can do. Then we can call a shrink."

"Sounds like a plan to me." Bobby inclined his head. Speaking of. "How's that face of yours?"

Sam squinted, only emphasizing the bruising around his eyes. "It's fine."

"Let me look at it."

The kid made a dissuading sound, only to get shushed and prodded back into his seat. Bobby grabbed his bag from the other chair and dug around in it for his otoscope. A second later he was looking at Sam's corneas, and definitely not liking what he saw there.

"Well?"

Bobby sat back in his chair, crossing his arms. "You gotta take better care of yourself, kid."

"Like this is my fault," Sam gestured at his face vaguely, waving a hand. "Luke Milton is an asshole and he's going to get what's coming to him."

_I don't doubt it._ Bobby thought. He slapped Sam on the back. "You'd better go talk to Jo."

"I will. Thanks." Sam rubbed his eyes, winced and carefully moved them away. "Thanks for everything, Bobby."

"It's my job." Bobby said, though it really wasn't. He gave the kid a reassuring smile and moved towards the doorway, bag in hand. "I'll stick around the place in case one of y'all idjits decides to get shot or something."

"Bite your tongue." Sam said, but he was smiling. Bobby rapped the doorjamb once and left, a strange feeling curling in his gut.

* * *

Jo was in his old bed, which made Sam laugh a little to himself when he entered the infirmary. He quickly schooled his expression as he saw the receptionist's state. She was curled up in a rough quilt, looking small and nothing like the strong woman she was.

Sam walked towards her slowly, hands held up in a non threatening manner. He smiled softly, trying to catch her gaze. "Hey, Jo."

He heard a quick whisper, something that could have been  _hey Sam_ but came out as more of a gasp. His concern intensifying, Sam sat quietly at the edge of her bed. Her eyes didn't move from where they were staring at the wall, fixed on a broken, unpainted tile.

"You and I match."

Jo frowned slightly, lines creasing her brow. She looked at him, then quickly away.

"Our faces, I mean." Sam said, gesturing at her cheek. They were both wearing badges of honor, as far as he was concerned. "He really nailed you, didn't he?"

Jo shifted slightly, tightening the blanket around her shoulders. "You're the first one to bring it up."

"I don't like to dance around things, I guess." Sam relaxed his posture, trying to appear as harmless as possible. "Jo, I know I'm not the right guy for this…but are you okay?"

His thoughts turned to Dean, and how quickly the other man would have fixed any of her fears. They'd all be okay if he was here, to be frank, but all he had was himself at the moment. Sam smiled softly at Jo, placing a hand on her wrist.

She blinked, a tear dropping from her eyes. They both stayed silent for a long moment.

"I'm pregnant."

Sam wasn't even at the point where that could shock him, but it was close. He dipped his head once, acknowledging the statement. Jo crumpled slightly, her head falling on Sam's shoulder. He wrapped her in his arms, feeling her heave against him.

"It's okay. Shhhh. It's okay. It's gonna be okay."

He was gentle as he shifted her so she could lay across his chest, mindful of his own injuries and hers. After a moment of silence, she sniffled once and looked up. Sam stared down at her, unable to offer anything other than a small smile again. "It's Luke's."

"I thought so."

"I don't want to get rid of it."

Sam nodded. "No one's forcing you to."

"...okay." Jo took a deep breath, running her fingers under her eyes. After wiping away the smeared makeup, she put on a sunny, strained smile. "Okay. I'm feeling better."

"Really?"

"No." Jo sat up completely, letting the blanket drop to the bed. She put her head in her hands. "My mother's going to kick my ass."

That Ellen was. Sam shuddered internally at what the Harvelle matriarch would or could do. "I'm sure it'll be fine. At least you're married."

"Not with Luke." Jo said unhappily, looking him square in the eye. "Not with this shit he just fucking pulled. Crowley's writing my annulment the second Dean's out or I'm shanking his smarmy ass."

Sam conceded this, shifting slightly as a dangerous glint grew in the woman's eye. "Sure. I'll make sure he knows. And..."

"Luke." Jo finished, screwing her face up. Sam was worried she might start crying again, but she seemed angry. "I know you found out something about him."

He looked away suddenly, finding Jo's broken tile from before and fixing on it. "And how'd you guess that?"

"I heard you talking earlier," Jo admitted, head downturned. Sam felt a fission of guilt go through him. "About Luke. About D'Angelo."

"Jo, I'm so s-" Sam blinked as she put a finger to his lips.

"...I had my suspicions," Jo said firmly, but her lower lip was wobbling a little. "...Christ. I can't do this. I can't do this alone, Sam."

He wrapped his arms around her shaking shoulders. What she had to be going through seemed twice as worse. "You won't have to. Dean and I have the money, you don't need to worry about that."

"That's actually...really nice of you to say." Jo sniffled again, resting her head against Sam's shoulder. "Ah, shit."

"What?"

"I got your shirt wet." Jo lifted her head, revealing a large wet spot on the silk. Sam couldn't stop the chuckle that escaped. "Sam! That isn't funny, I know how much it co-"

"It's alright," he said, still laughing and patting her back. "Everything's going to be alright."

* * *

Castiel slipped into Luke Milton's apartment with ease, avoiding the broken glass near the foyer. The owner was asleep on his couch, snoring drunkenly. It gave him the perfect cover to slip in and take what he needed.

Outside the building, he texted Sam. He deposited the memory card he'd duplicated inside into a small baggie. Gabriel pulled up a moment later in a Lexus, a worried look on his face. It wasn't the most inconspicuous of cars, but it performed satisfactorily.

"Got what you need?"

Castiel slipped into the passenger seat, eager to be out of sight. "Yes. Sam says it qualifies as hard evidence."

"Then we have a dinner date to set up." The other man said cryptically, raising an eyebrow. Castiel frowned, not following. "Sam and Michael D'Angelo."

"We're not trying to dissuade Dean's father from testifying?" He asked, confused. "John would be a much easier route."

"Ah, but they're expecting that." Gabriel took the corner slowly, watching their rear view carefully. "Accused mob bosses intimidate witnesses all the time. This way you get to convince D'Angelo to drop the case, or face being disbarred. John has nothing to do with it."

The warehouse was coming up on their right. Castiel pondered this, looking out of the window. "He still needs to be...kept quiet."

"I agree." Gabriel said, pulling into their parking underground. "But that's for Sam and Dean to decide. We just have to keep clear long enough for the media to get bored. Then Johnny-Boy's ours."

The smile on his face unnerved even Castiel. "You seem very invested in that outcome."

The shorter man smiled even wider, tilting his head. "Aren't you?"

He imagined John Winchester, a man who'd caused them trouble from the very start. He imagined him bloody, beaten; hanging from chains, blackened from fire. Bones, fingers missing.

"...I suppose so."

* * *

The man's body had been taken away. That was all he'd wheedled out of the guards. No one in the prison seemed to have caught the fight on camera, which seemed eerily unfortunate. Dean got the impression that even if they had, it would have been ignored. People died in jail all the time, but it was a hell of a stupid way to go.

The inmates around him refused to jeer anymore, terrified and rightly so. He caught a few looking at him out of the corner of his eye and merely raised an eyebrow. The whispering would stop, and everyone kept their heads down.

It was nice to be the Alpha again. Even the guards hesitated before entering his cell. He didn't get bothered during his meals. What bothered him was Luke Milton's smug face, floating in and out of his thoughts. Sam's cry of pain as he'd submitted to capture joined it, until all he could do was meditate on his anger, perched on his stained regulation mattress.

"Winchester."

He grunted, rolling over. "What, Legolas?"

The guard was standing in front of the cell, a constipated look on his face. "Visitor. And it's  _Liebgott_ , asshat."

"Another one? Makes me more popular than you, Leprechaun." Dean rolled to his feet.

" _Liebgott_ ," the guard said irritably, putting cuffs on Dean proffered hands through the bars. "Move your ass, Winchester."

He was led to the same room as before, hope sinking as he spotted Crowley's form sitting at one of the tables. No Sam then.

"Fergus!"

Crowley looked up from his briefcase, a dark look in his eyes. "Do you like your balls intact, Winchester?"

Dean sat, pulling the rickety metal chair across the floor. It squeaked loudly, only serving to irritate Liebgott and the lawyer. "Sam does."

"And only because that polite, intelligent moose of a man is in love with you do I restrain myself." Crowley said testily, leaning back. He slipped into Russian easily. "This is going to be quick. Your case will be dismissed soon."

"What?" Dean was shocked enough that he answered straight in English. Crowley looked pointedly at Liebgott, frowning.

"I can't tell you now, but it'll be soon. Sam is fine. My question is what you want to do with your father after this."

Dean stared disbelievingly at the lawyer. "What I want to  _do_  with him?"

"What's to keep him from testifying again?" Crowley posed, "What the hell's keeping that idiot of a man from waking down to the local news station and yelling his lungs out about you and Sam? I'll tell you; nothing. Except you and a couple of bullets."

"There's more than one way to keep people quiet." Dean said, thinking it over. "What does Sam want to do?"

"He's busy trying to get you out. Don't get jealous, but he's about to go out on a pretty fancy date." Crowley wiggled his eyebrows. "He could have been a great lawyer, you know."

"I know." Dean said wistfully, remembering Sam's concentration during the arraignment. "Alright. I guess I just sit tight then. We'll talk about John later."

"Good boy," Crowley purred, patting him on the shoulder. He turned to Liebgott. "Ready to take him back?"

The guard frowned in confusion, prompting Dean to sigh. "English, Fergus. Only language that man speaks is German curse words."

"Ah,  _sprechen Sie Deutsch_?"

Liebgott responded in fluid German a second later, a small smile spreading across his face. A moment later they were chatting excitedly, gesturing at Dean.

"Hello?" Dean ventured after a good two minutes of being ignored. "Guten tag? Am I being returned to my cell anytime soon?"

Crowley ended the conversation with a sigh. "Of course, squirrel. It's been a pleasure, Josef."

"Damn straight." Liebgott grabbed Dean and hauled the cuffs on. Crowley waved and ducked out of the room, taking the exit Dean wished he could enter. "Nice lawyer you got there, kid."

"You have no idea."

* * *

Michael D'Angelo sauntered towards his private table at the back of  _Trinacria,_ chatting pleasantly with the hostess. She was a plump little blonde thing in a slip of a black dress, a little reminiscent of how Luke's wife used to look before she'd let herself go. He let his eyes rove south as they traveled to his booth. The restaurant was buzzing with undertones of activity, peppered with the unveiling of dishes and the sounds of clattering silverware.

"And just right here, Mr. D'Angelo…" His hostess cut off, a worried looking waiter leaning in and whispering in her ear. She pursed her lips, looking at his booth.

"Is there a problem?" He asked, growing impatient.

The woman gestured the waiter away, shaking her head. "No, no Mr. D'Angelo. Please, follow me."

He saw the problem right away. A tall figure was relaxing against the seats in his booth, arms stretching effortlessly, encompassing the entire span. He was dressed in an expensive suit, the fabric flowing around the curves of his body like it had been made for it. Sharp, tilted cheekbones caught the light and Michael's stomach  _dropped._

"Mr. Wesson, may I present Michael D'Angelo." His hostess said, inclining her head and avoiding Michael's gaze. She hurried off as soon as the introduction was said, tottering on her heels. Michael moved closer to the table, unable to believe what he was seeing.

"Michael?" Sam Wesson asked, voice a subtle rumble. He looked up, spreading captivating hazel eyes wide. A small smile curved his lips. "Please, sit."

He settled into the opposite seat, his panic level increasing exponentially as he saw his favorite appetizers spread out across the table. He glanced around the restaurant furtively, wondering if he should be looking for snipers. "I'm not entirely sure this meeting is legal, Mr. Wesson."

"Do I look like a man who deals often in legal matters?" Wesson asked, spinning a cigarette idly on the table. Michael watched it move between his slim fingers, realizing in that moment what power, allure, this man had.

"No." He agreed, grabbing his napkin and nonchalantly folding it across his lap. The artichoke hearts to his left put out a delicious aroma, but he couldn't think about eating right now. "Can I inquire as to tonight's menu?"

Wesson gestured at the dish to his right. "That one might interest you."

He picked up the small silver cover, a small ring escaping as the two metals jostled. Three shiny photos sat on the plate, making his heart sink even further.

Wesson's smile was even wider than before, showing a hint of teeth. "Can I assume you understand the implication of those photos?"

_These can't be the only copies_ Michael thought, desperately running through his mind for options.  _Destroy these-no, not in public_  "...I do."

"Then you'll understand my next statement very carefully." Wesson said, catching Michael's eye. He knew exactly what he was doing to him, from the hesitation that pulled at the lawyer's nerves. "You will dissuade John Winchester from testifying. You will pull the case. You will make no comments to the media. Understood?"

Michael felt his heart in his throat, blood pumping furiously to his brain. "And if I don't?"

"I would have rather let that go unsaid…" Wesson trailed a finger across the glossy photographs, tiling his head with a charming smile. With his soft eyes and longer hair he could pass for a young, handsome college student. Michael knew better, though. "But trust me when I say, there are more than just those pictures, and I have more than just a few contacts in the media."

Michael sat there dumbly, staring at the photographs. Damn Luke. Damn him to hell. "And if Luke wants to continue regardless?"

A dark laugh escaped Wesson, a quick musical slide of notes. "Don't worry about Luke."

"Then we have a deal?"

Wesson looked at him, tip-tilted eyes lazy with power. "Have a nice meal, Michael. We'll be watching."

With that he stood, disappearing into the crowd. The lawyer sat, unable to wrest his gaze away from the photographs.  _Damn Luke. Damn Luke and his stupid, stupid promises._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Reviews are love, and I seem to need a lot of it before I injure myself again :/...


	14. The Boys Are Back In Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets free. Castiel and Gabriel spar. Baby clothing is purchased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Here's a couple interludes I've been futzing around with. I finally managed to work them into a small chapter. Thank you so much for reading, guys. I really appreciate it.

Luke got the call at seven the next morning, in the middle of placing his service revolver into his holster. Heard Michael's voice, screaming and tearing into him. Eventually put down the cell phone, even though Michael was still screaming, blaming him. Felt terror run through him at the thought of what they could lose. What he was going to lose.

_Oh my God._

Winchester was going free that morning. D'Angelo had informed Winchester already, though that was all he had caught from his angry rambling. Winchester was going to leave, and their case was going to-drop. Fall apart. Years and years he'd spent throwing this case together, and it was all gone in an...instant.

He grabbed his revolver from the holster, thinking things through again and again, in circles. Considered it. Put it on the table.

Looked at it again.

* * *

Cameras flashed as Dean was led out of the precinct, a furious looking police officer unshackling him as they walked forward. Sam was just a few feet away, dressed casually in jeans and a leather jacket. The surrounding media was forced with the hardest decision of the week; keep the camera on Dean, or on his mafia-affiliated lover?

Gabriel stood behind Sam's right hand, Castiel on his left. They were trying to remain stoic, but the second the two men embraced, he saw the other lieutenant break into a smile.

"Hey." Dean mumbled into Sam's neck. Gabriel grinned, finally letting himself go. This was too good to be true. Even Crowley was smirking a little, radiating smug amusement.

"Hey." Sam said, ignoring the flash of cameras around their little bubble. "Wanna get outta here?"

"Hell yeah." Dean slung his arm around the taller man, waving cheekily at the reporters. They shouted back, drawn by his antics. The pair began walking towards the door, ignoring the shoved microphones and cameras.

"Mr. Winchester!"

"Sam! What can you say about allegations of racketeering being levelled at your family?"

"Dean, did you kill Gordon Walker?"

Castiel turned his nose up at a man who grabbed his trench coat rather roughly, and Gabriel knew that there were at least six different ways to kill the pushy reporter in that second, but the other man abstained. "No comment."

"C'mon-" the reporter, some blonde man in a inexpensive suit, wasn't deterred. He gestured his camera man over, and by  _gesture_ , Gabriel really meant  _shoved._ "Gimme a sound bite, man. It's easy-"

He reached out a hand and pushed the heavy camera off the man's shoulder, watching it teeter to the floor. It crashed between the reporter's feet, smashing plastic and glass everywhere.

Gabriel smiled cheekily. "Oops."

"You just  _broke_ my fucking  _camera-_ "

Castiel grabbed him by the collar and pulled him along, though when Gabriel looked up the other man was smirking slightly. "What?"

"...Nothing." The lieutenant was walking swiftly, and Gabriel's legs just weren't long enough for that. "We're going to miss the car if you don't walk faster."

"I  _am_ walking fast! You're just taller. You have longer legs. It's not fair."

Far ahead of them, Sam and Dean still hadn't stopped touching each other. Dean had made a quick survey of Sam's face, wincing at the blackened, bruised skin around the other man's eyes. It was also a great time to quickly debrief.

"So those pictures finally did come in handy."

Sam raised an eyebrow, a beatific look on his face. "What pictures?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

"No clue." Sam said, but he was grinning from ear to ear. They dodged another reporter. "Milton and D'Angelo dropped the case out of their own accord. No coercion necessary."

"...and that's exactly how it happened." Dean affirmed, smiling back. God, it was good to be back. Back in his partner's arms, back in civil society. "How much is Crowley asking for this time?"

"Not as much as you'd expect." Sam said, swinging them around the sidewalk's corner. A small, elegantly-furnished limo sat at the curb, idling. He held the door open for Dean, who jumped in with a little more enthusiasm than necessary. "I think he just wants to have a private conference with Richings, maybe rub it in his face a little."

"Awesome. I don't even care." Dean grabbed the champagne that someone had thoughtfully placed in an ice bucket, popping the bottle with a muffled hoot. He turned to Sam. "Champagne, darling?"

"Your accent is horrible." Sam wrinkled his nose, but he held a hand out. A second later a slim glass was deposited in his hand. "Crowley's is much better."

"Oh, so were you shacking up with him while I was in jail?" Dean asked, a mock-offended look on his face. "A little hanky-panky?"

"It occurred to me." Sam said, smiling. He looked at Dean, eyes flashing with humor. "But I think I'd miss you a little."

"Awww." Dean threw himself onto Sam's lap, both of them sloshing their champagne a little. Sam's startled shout only made him laugh harder. "It's just a little liquid, Sam."

"This is  _Armani,_ Dean." The other man protested, trying to shove him off. Outside someone knocked on the window, so Dean reached over to roll it down, Sam still scrubbing furiously at his pants.

"Yes?"

It was Castiel. "May we ride with you?"

"No." Dean closed the window immediately. He looked at Sam. "Call them another limo."

The other man frowned. "What do I look like, your personal assistant?"

"You look like a hot piece of ass, Sammy." Dean looked over the partition at the chauffeur, placing a hand on Sam's thigh. "Drive."

* * *

Everyone sane let the two bosses travel to their rooms uninterrupted, carefully staying away from the second floor for a decent chunk of the day. Benny, Gabe and a reluctant Castiel held a small party on the first floor, consisting of all the leftover alcohol from the party they'd held what felt like months ago. Ruby and Jessica, then Meg and Anna wandered in, followed by a pale-looking Jo. All but Jo accepted some of the mystery alcohol.

"What do you think they're doing right now?"

Jessica smacked her girlfriend. "What do you  _think_ they're doing right now?"

"No, no, no." Ruby said. "I mean, you can only physically have sex for so long. Maybe they cuddle in between rounds. Do you think they have pillow talk?"

Castiel looked mildly disturbed by this. "I don't think we should be discussing their bedroom habits."

"Cassie, you're no fun." Gabriel whined, already two sheets to the wind on the nearby couch. "Sometimes I forget you're a lieutenant."

"I earned that title." Castiel said indignantly, staring him straight on. He looked a little drunk too. "Would you like to challenge it?"

Benny hooted, but Gabriel looked surprised. "I didn't mean to-to imply you didn't. You're just... _bossy_."

"Fi _ight._ Fi _ght!_ " Ruby began chanting, clapping. "Beat his little candy ass, Castiel!"

"Oh, I'm coming for you next." Gabriel said, pointing at Ruby as he stood up. He looked across the room to Castiel. "Fine. A little clean, no-weapons spar? Easy-peasy."

Castiel stood gracefully, coat flapping with the movement. "Then let's begin."

Jessica was watching all of this with wide eyes, while Jo was looking mournfully at the bottle of smirnoff in the corner. Benny was quietly exchanging money with Meg already, arguing under his breath about conversions.

"Alright." Ruby said, holding her hands up. "Three, two, one...GO!"

Gabriel vaulted towards Castiel, more coordinated than he should've have been for all the alcohol he'd had. He gave a quick flurry of kicks, getting nothing but easy blocks from the blue-eyed man. A quick, graceful punch had the smaller man dodging, but not in trouble.

Suddenly they were circling, crossing the entire room as hit after hit was dodged, exchanged and turned around.

Castiel got an interesting, martial-arts sort of hold on Gabriel's shoulder, only to be tossed back by a quick slip from the smaller man. Finally the smaller man succumbed to a vicious chop from the lieutenant, dropping to the floor as it caught him in the neck. It had taken less than thirty seconds.

"Nice…" the lieutenant wheezed into the carpet, breath knocked out of him. Castiel stood above the smaller man, a victorious look in his pale blue eyes. "...alright. You win."

"It was not a fair fight, but you held your own." Castiel put a hand forward, helping the smaller man up to his feet. Bruises were blossoming across both of their faces. "No one's been able to counter me for years. Consider yourself one of the few."

"Not even Dean?" Jessica asked curiously.

"Dean doesn't fight his own people." Ruby answered. Castiel nodded along with her. "Something happened a while back, and he doesn't do it anymore. I bet he could beat him, though."

"...And that's a fight you'll have to wait another day for." Dean said smoothly, entering the room. Sam was at his side, a goofy grin on his face. They were both dripping wet, wearing new clothing that looked like it had only been sloppily thrown on. Nevertheless, they made it look good. "I thought I heard fighting. Who won?"

Everyone, frozen briefly in surprise, sprung into action. Gabrel ducked his head. "Uh, well…"

"Castiel." Meg muttered darkly, forking over what looked like a few fifties to a smug Benny. "But it was close."

"Was  _not_." Benny retorted. "You're missing a ten, by the way."

"Bite me, Lafitte."

Sam sighed, but he seemed relaxed, maybe even amused. He levelled them with a look. "Anyone wanna come have a debrief with us in the conference room?"

Everyone looked at the remaining bottles of smirnoff and liquor. Gabriel frowned. "No."

"Let me rephrase that for Sam," Dean said, taking a step forward. His hair was still wet from a shower, and two high points of color were on his cheekbones. "Get into the conference room so we can have a meeting."

"We haven't been an official organization in weeks." Jo said, running a hand through her hair. "I need to take minutes-wait, I need my laptop. Can you wait a few seconds, I just gotta run upstairs-"

"Hey." Sam placed a hand on her shoulder. "Calm down. Everything's fine. Look."

Dean produced her laptop from behind his back, handing it to her with a cheeky smile. Jo took it, eyes a little mistier than usual. No one commented, instead filing into the conference room with their drinks of choice. Dean grabbed a bottle of water from the pile and handed it to Jo with a wink. Well, that saved another awkward conversation.

The two bosses took their place at the head of the table, looking eerily like a pair of ruling monarchs. A few minutes later the rest of their collective organization filed in, leaving standing room only. Everyone looked happy to see Dean again, and most of all, they looked happy to see their other leader smiling.

"Thanks for coming, everyone." Dean said, spreading his hands across the table. "We're really here to discuss the last few weeks, but we also have a few announcements."

"As of now, we are facing no legal cases." Sam said, drawing cheers and sputtering applause. "We have Crowley to thank partially for that. Our numbers are up, even in Dean's absence, so that shows the hard work you guys have been putting in. Good job to all."

"What is this, an office pep rally?" Gabriel whispered to Jo, who shoved him away, typing furiously on the laptop as she tried to keep up. "What?"

"Shut up."

"And now, that moves us to planning and tying up loose ends." Dean said after the cheering had died down. "John Winchester is one of them. As far as we can tell, as of this moment he has fled the city."

The room fell silent, all of the organization carefully watching their leader's face. Even Sam glanced down, deferent to Dean in this.

"I am placing a bounty on John Winchester's head." Dean said quietly a moment later, drawing shocked looks from those in the room. "I want him alive. I want him uninjured. Whoever brings him here first gets one million, non-negotiable. Sam and I are not participating, nor are our lieutenants. Dismissed."

The crowd dispersed, talking eagerly among each other. Sam looked up at his partner, watching carefully.

"A bounty?"

Dean rubbed his eyes, squinting. "I don't want to find him myself. And, honestly, I know the guy. He's going to drop off the map. They won't ever find him."

"Then why the bounty?"

"Just in case. Tying up loose ends." the other man said tiredly. "And it means I don't have to do it."

Jo was still typing his every word into the computer, nails clicking against the keys. "Done?"

"Sure." Dean said, smiling suddenly at her. "Hey, Jo. I got a question for you."

Jo closed the laptop, looking down. "Go ahead."

"How do you feel about leather jackets?"

"...leather jackets." The receptionist took no time to think this over. "They're fine, I guess. Why?"

"Well, when Sam and I were upstairs, we looked up that new designer baby outlet." Dean said, grinning. "And they have baby leather jackets."

Jo looked down at her still-flat stomach, flushing slightly. "Well, I don't know if leather is good for a newborn-"

"Oh, they have them in newborn si-" Sam covered Dean's mouth, smiling at Jo.

"He's a little excited." Sam apologized. "What he  _meant_ to say was, would you like to go baby clothes shopping with us?"

"Oh, I can't afford-"

"Shush!" Dean said excitedly. "We're so not talking about money. Sam's future police-brutality case is going to bring in a couple extra millions anyway, right babe?"

"Dean, that's not really how law works."

Dean ignored his partner, smiling at Jo. "So?"

"...it would mean a l-lot to me." Jo said with a shaky smile. She took Dean's proffered hand and stood. "I hadn't even really thought about clothing yet, to be honest."

"Great!" Dean turned to Sam. "Let's go!"

Sam put his head in his hands. "I thought you meant in a few weeks."

"Why not now?"

The taller man levelled him with a disbelieving look. "If I told the masses that on his first day as a free man, Mob boss Dean Winchester went baby clothes shopping, what would they say?"

"They'd make sure as hell they weren't anywhere near Target today." Dean said in return. He already had his phone out, ostensibly dialing Castiel to bring a car up. "The car'lll be out front in a few minutes. Jo, you want me to go get your coat?"

Jo sniffed. "I'm not that delicate yet."

"Great. Meet us outside in a few minutes." Dean said, turning to Sam. "Man, this kid is going to have the best godfathers  _ever_."

Sam was merely shaking his head slowly, pinching his nose. "That poor child."

* * *

They were all wearing black. They were also very tall. Those two things were all Cailey could process, standing at the register like some gaping dumbass. It was like the male models of Givenchy had just walked into her store. They were all handsome and alluring, and even the small blonde woman in the middle of the group looked like she belonged.

"Can I..help you?"

The second-tallest locked onto her immediately, a wide grin on his face. "Sure!"

"Alright…" She replied, trying in vain to kickstart into sales mode. God, his eyes were so  _green_. She was apparently staring for too long, because the tallest one of the group came over and slid behind the other man. "Um, what are you guys looking for today?"

"Baby clothes!" The green-eyed man said. His taller friend smacked him. "I mean, duh. Of course you have those here. For, ah, newborns?"

"Sure. Right over here. If you'll just follow me." Cailey led them over to the back of the store, watching nervously as the entire group of black-clothed, glamorous people moved with her. "Who are you buying for, if I might..ask?"

"Me." The small blonde woman said quietly. An intelligent pair of eyes met hers. "I-I am the mother."

Cailey looked at the surrounding men and swallowed nervously. "Oh. And, uh, who's the lucky father?"

"Wow, look at those little booties." The taller man interjected, shooting her a pointed look. He held some of the polar fleece boots up to the woman. "These look warm."

The woman seemed to relax, taking them from the taller man. "Wow, these are really soft."

"Great." The green-eyed man said, moving between two other silent male models to get to the racks. He looked at Cailey with that disarming smile of his. She felt her knees go week. "Where are the jackets?"

"W-What?"

"The leather jackets. You know, like sweaters." The man mimed the motion of putting on a sweater, and Cailey's common sense kicked in. "Oh, nevermind, I see them."

Cailey followed the mother around dazedly, wondering how this group even knew each other. It couldn't really be modeling, could it? Considering the flashy watches the two tallest were sporting, it might be. Their faces  _did_ look familiar, too. Maybe she'd seen them on a magazine.

Ten minutes later and the group had managed to collect an entire shopping cart full of clothing. Baffled, Cailey checked them out, unsurprised to see the black debit card slid onto the boutique table. Of course they were rich. But this was more clothing than a newborn could wear in an entire year.

"And could I just have a signature, Mr…" Cailey blanked on the name, looking down at the debit card still on the table. "...W-winchester."

Dean Winchester gave her a vicious smile, signing quickly and receiving his receipt she gave with shaking hands. "Thanks, sweetheart."

"No problem." She said, watching the entourage move towards the exit. The blonde woman looked excited as she pored through the one bag they'd allowed her to carry. Cailey grabbed her arm. "Good luck."

The woman smiled. "Thanks."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Sorry it was short! I hope you guys enjoyed the lighter chapter. Reviews are love!


	15. Golde, Do You Love Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean relax after the trial blows over. Jo goes to a pre-natal appointment and comes home with more than she asked for. Dean struggles with asking Sam a very important question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Here's a longer chapter for you guys! Sorry for the delay. Real life got in the way. On a completely unrelated note, anyone have any college suggestions?

Dean looked down at his drink, staring forlornly at the wet mark it left on the polished oak table. Castiel sat motionless across from him, playing a similar game with a pint of Guinness. Neither spoke, disinterestedly watching the football game on the television above the bar.

It had been about four months since he'd been released from jail, and things couldn't have been more different. He knew things wouldn't just go back to normal, but it felt like everything had changed.

Castiel had reassured him repeatedly that the changes were for the better-and he knew that. But a primal part of him wanted to hunker over what was his and disappear into the country. He wasn't tired of being in charge...just wary. Maybe it was age.

His lieutenant finally dredged him from his musing, clearing his throat as the game devolved into a curse-laden fight on the field. "Dean."

"Man, the 49ers really suck this season." Dean replied, watching the two teams fight it out on the field, ignoring Castiel. "And they pay them to do this shit, too."

"There is a reason you called me here," Castiel said pointedly, staring him in the eyes until Dean turned from the screen. "Unless you truly wish to belittle the opposite team all night without drinking."

Dean looked down at his full beer, a slight flush coloring his cheeks. "Perceptive as ever. I do have something I want to talk about."

Blue eyes met his. "What is it?"

"Something you can't speak with the others about."

"I assumed." Castiel tilted his head, a fond look coming into his eyes. "Don't worry. Gabriel wouldn't set a foot in this place."

Dean perked up with curiosity. "And why's that?"

Castiel gestured at the bar with a nod of his head. The burly bartender scowled, most likely unhappy with their sitting beers. "The sweetest thing you can consume here is beer, which tends to be very bitter."

"That explains it." Dean said, but he was watching his second in command closely. "No, what I….Cas...I don't know how to phrase this."

"Take your time."

Dean opened his mouth, only to close it again a moment later. He felt more blood rush to his cheeks. "I want to ask Sam something."

"Sam?" Castiel asked, tilting his head curiously. "You should've had this meeting with him if you were discussing strategy."

"I'm not." Dean said quickly, frowning. Sam was great at strategy, intimidation, sniping-any and all of it. He was funny when he needed to be, serious when the organization needed him to lead. Loyal to a fault, and beautiful. "I-Christ, this was a stupid idea."

"Considering we must drink at least some of this beer before we leave, I suggest you  _spit it out_." Castiel replied, tonguing the last three words in his phantom Russian accent. Dean smirked to himself, remembering that there were phrases and idioms even his razor-sharp lieutenant didn't remember. "Dean."

"Fine, fine...I want to ask Sam to, uh," Dean swallowed, looking down at his beer. A referee blew a whistle on the television, startling him. "To marry me."

Silence reigned from Castiel's side of the table. Dean was hesitant to look up. "Cas?"

"I think that is a very good idea."

"Really?"

Castiel frowned. "Sam loves you very much. He's proven that, has he not?"

"Of course he has," Dean said quickly, his mind flashing to the multitude of times he'd seen Sam proven himself, in blood and pain and pure determination. "I'm more worried about...me."

"You are a suitable partner." Castiel said seriously, not understanding the question. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Thanks, Cas."

He let the moment slip away from him, watching the Bears break into another scuffle. His beer sat untouched in front of him, but he was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to consider getting drunk, though it seemed appealing. He was going to ask Sam to marry him. Sam. Marriage.

On second thought, he picked up his glass and took a swig.

* * *

_Just ask him_  had been Castiel's advice after their informal powwow at the bar. It wasn't the decision to ask that was freaking him out-but  _how_ to do it. Most people went back to the first place they'd met, but for him and Sam, that was a fistfight during his luncheon and, later, a mutual dive into the river with matching bullet wounds.

As most of his entourage would likely say,  _perfectly romantic._

The last few months had been spent lying low, pulling in business and solidifying their land without making the papers. Sam and Gabriel had been especially helpful, combining old resources from Alan's accounts and organizing their new turf. Sam had been spending his off hours with Jo, which Dean was forever grateful for.

He walked into his office, sending Jo a quick smile as he passed her desk. She was definitely showing now, and she looked more radiant than ever. Part of it was the support from Sam, but most of it was her own personality. She was strong and stubborn, just like her mother, shining from the inside.

"Hey, Jo."

"Hey. Sam's in there, waiting for you." She handed him the daily mail without being prompted. "We're heading to my next appointment in a few minutes if you wanna come with."

"And meet my future godchild? I wouldn't miss it." Dean joked, backing into his office. "Seriously, it would be an honor, Jo. You finding out the gender today?"

She smirked. "Yup."

A voice called out from the office. "The pool's up to $4,000 on a boy."

Dean turned and found Sam inches from his face. He was wearing a vicious, streamlined Armani suit, done completely in black. He looked tall and suave, top button undone like he'd forgotten about it. Dean leaned in, pulling Sam in by his tie. "Hello, handsome."

Sam kissed him sweetly. still grinning. He finally broke away, leaving Dean standing there like a fool. "I've got a message for my boss."

"Oh yeah?"

"I'm taking a break in a few minutes." Sam said flirtatiously, leaning against the doorframe. "You'll let him know, right? I wouldn't want to get in  _trouble_."

"You're always in trouble," Dean said, pouting as Sam avoided another kiss in favor of making a face at Jo behind his back. "And a pain in my ass, Wesson."

"Not tonight." Sam winked at him, dancing away from his grabby hands (Sam's ass in Armani was almost too much for him to bear) and moving towards Jo. "You got all your paperwork and stuff?"

"Maybe." Jo rolled her eyes, tapping a stack of paper on her desk. "It's only the  _millionth_ time you've asked me, Wesson."

Dean smirked at their familiar banter, grabbing his coat from the chair in front of his desk. "We going, or what?"

"Yeah yeah yeah. Hold your horses." Jo stood up slowly, grabbing her purse with one hand placed firmly at the small of her back. "Jesus, I feel like a whale."

"A very cute whale." Sam quipped, getting a snort from Dean. He walked cautiously behind Jo on the stairs, making sure Sam was in front of her just in case. "Dean, you wanna drive?"

It took a lot out of him not to make a dirty joke right then and there, but he succeeded. He turned towards the pregnant woman. "What do you say, Jo? Wanna take the kid on a spin in the Porsche?"

Her eager, slightly nervous look didn't diminish. "I don't care how we get there. I just wanna see my baby."

"Right." Dean said, grabbing the 9/11's keys off the table in front of the walk-in garage. Sam helped Jo down the stairs carefully, shooting Dean a wide grin. He heart fucking melted for a moment at that smile, which just made his problems even worse.

The clinic was about a half hour's drive from their building, and despite his track record for speeding, he took it slow. Jo looked increasingly excited and nauseous in the backseat, while Sam filled Dean in on his day. Apparently it had been spent speaking with Russian diplomats and drug lords in equal turns, trying to negotiate a cease fire for the gang violence that had been breaking out between the rival drug factions in the city for the past two months.

Sam's skills as a smooth talking, almost-lawyer came in handy, and Dean was reluctant to agree that he was the kind of man his organization had needed. Dean himself was much more of a shoot-then-discuss kind of person.

They must have looked like an odd crowd walking into the clinic, but Dean couldn't care less. A nice older woman with grey-streaked hair led them into a back room, set up with a reclining chair and a bunch of machines. Jo sat down in the chair immediately, a sigh escaping her as she got off her feet.

A fission of guilt went through Dean as he saw all the tubes, remembering the times he'd seen Sam hooked up to similar machines. Sam, as if knowing what he was thinking, grabbed his hand and squeezed it. It was all very domestic.

"Hi, Jo?" A kind-looking woman poked her head in, entering. She put her hand out, getting a firm handshake from Jo. "I'm Dr. Raven. And these are…?"

Sam smiled, putting out a hand immediately. "Sam. This is Dean."

"A pleasure." the doctor said, shaking both of their hands. She frowned briefly, looking down at a clipboard in her other hand. "Are Jo and you family?"

"Well, we-" Sam began.

"I'd like for both of them to be here." Jo interjected, looking firmly at the doctor. "They're family."

"Of course. The more the merrier." The doctor, to her credit, said nothing further on the subject. She looked down at her chart. "It says here you're at about four months. How are you feeling?"

"Tired." Jo said immediately. "And huge."

"Well, those are both normal states during pregnancy, I'm afraid." The doctor said with a smile. She set the chart down and moved over to the large machines. "Why don't we get you hooked up and take a look, huh?"

"Great." Jo said, leaning back into the chair. She rolled up her t-shirt, revealing a round and very taut-looking stomach. "God, the baby won't stop  _moving._ It's like they're always kicking."

"Hmmm." The doctor said, plugging in a wand-like thing on a curly cord. She grabbed a squirt bottle of clear liquid, moving towards Jo with it. "This is going to be cold. Prepare yourself."

Dean watched in fascination as she flicked on a screen, grabbing the wand from before. Jo leaned back, flinching slightly as the gel hit her skin. "Can't take a little cold, Jo?"

"Hey Winchester?"

"Yeah?"

"Fuck you." Jo said, sticking her tongue out. The doctor didn't even flinch, though her eyebrow twitched a little at the mention of his name. "See anything yet?"

"Just a second." Dr. Raven placed the wand on the epicenter of her belly, digging it in slightly. The screen flickered with indeterminate black and white streaks. "Hmmmm."

"What? Was that a good noise?" Jo asked, clearly nervous. Sam leaned forward, similarly worried. The doctor shook her head, but kept scanning with the wand.

"How many pre-natal appointments have you had?"

"...Two?" Jo said, biting her lip. The doctor  _hmmmm_ ed again, watching the screen carefully. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong at all." The doctor said quickly, eliciting a relieved sigh from Sam. "You baby is perfectly healthy. There's just one thing."

"Yes?" Jo asked anxiously.

"...you're having two of them."

"Two?" Dean swore he saw Jo's eyes bug out of her sockets briefly. She leaned back, breathing heavily. "Oh my God. Oh my God, you have to be kidding me."

Sam turned to Dean, mouthing  _twins_ at him with a stunned expression. He broke into a smile, grabbing Sam's hand and squeezing. It wasn't even his baby, for Christ's sake. But he was utterly happy in that moment.

"I am definitely not kidding you." The doctor said, smiling at Jo. She gestured at the screen. "I can hear two heartbeats, for one. Also, if you look right there-right there! You see those two blobs?"

Dean peered at the screen. "What is that?"

"That would be their heads." The doctor replied, turning to Dean. "You'd better stock up. These two are going to be double trouble."

Jo had her head in her hands, while Sam kept shooting excited looks at her. "And the gender?"

"If you want to know," The doctor said, squinting at the screen. Jo nodded vigorously, even with her head in her hands. "I'm fairly certain it's two boys. See their genitals, right here?"

Dean had a sudden vision of Jo chasing around two little blonde boys, the image making him smile. "Aww, Jo."

The pregnant woman didn't lift her head up, but still managed to point unerringly at him. "Winchester, you shut the hell up."

"So, how is it that the previous scans didn't see twins?" Sam asked, always the nerd. "Is that possible?"

"It's definitely possible. It's also probably the reason you've been gaining more weight, Jo." The doctor replied. She pointed at the screen. "They could be sharing one placenta, or the previous clinician doing the scan didn't check for two heartbeats."

"Oh my God." Jo repeated, running a hand through her hair. "...Jesus. Jesus  _fuck_."

Suave as ever, the doctor stood. "I'll leave you three alone for a few minutes, let you get yourselves oriented."

"Thank you, doctor." Sam said, inclining his head. She smiled at him and closed the door, leaving them in silence.

"I want you two to be their godparents."

Both he and Sam startled at her declaration. "What?"

Jo lifted her head, staring him straight in the eyes. "I said, Winchester, that if I have to carry twins, I want to know that in the untimely event of my death they won't be thrown out on the street. Or worse, with my mother."

"Jo, we'd be honored." Sam said, grabbing Dean's hand even tighter. "You're going to be the best mom ever. Don't even worry about it."

"Fuck Luke." Jo said, leaning her head back and staring up at the ceiling. " _Fuck_ Luke."

"That's kinda why you're pregnant in the first place." Dean quipped. "You know, fucking Luke."

"Fuck  _you_ Winchester!" Jo said, throwing the nearest item (a stack of STD pamphlets) while Sam just laughed and laughed.

* * *

He thought about asking Sam the question right then and there, but it seemed rude and awkward to overshadow Jo's big moment. They drove home in the Porsche, excitedly chattering about clothing and cribs (and by  _they,_ Dean really meant Sam and Jo, not that he didn't interject when needed). It turned out all the baby leather jackets he'd bought with Jo would be used after all, and that made him smile.

Sam looked absolutely gorgeous sprawled out on their sofa later that night, wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a blue t-shirt. His hair was fluffy and soft from his shower moments before, and the way his mouth widened into a smile when he saw Dean made him want to blurt it out right then and there.

He opened his mouth. He was doing this. "Hey Sam."

"Yeah?" Sam didn't look up from Project Runway, but he moved over on the couch to make room. Dean felt his willpower weaken, struggling to remember how he was going to phrase it.  _Phrasing,_ he thought.  _Get it right, you idiot._

"I, uh-" He sat on the couch, tripping over himself mentally as Sam's leg pressed against his. "...You wanna get...sushi?"

"Sushi?" Sam looked up from the TV and smiled. "Sure. Want me to grab the menu?"

Dean was hitting himself mentally, barely resisting the urge to do it physically. "...Sure."

Sam paused the show and kissed him briefly, strutting towards the kitchen to grab the menu. Dean gave in and facepalmed.

He was going to do this. He just needed to figure out  _how_.

(line break)

"You want me to, quote unquote, 'help you pop the big question'." Gabriel said, raising an eyebrow. Dean sighed, already regretting this decision.

"...yes."

"Could you  _get_ any more lame?"

Benny threw in his two cents from across the room. "Yes."

"You, shut up." Dean pointed at his other lieutenant. Gabriel sat next to Castiel on the loveseat (and weren't there alarm bells there?) and folded his arms. "Are you going to help me, or no? Because I'll figure it out on my own if you want to be a little bitch-"

"No, no. Calm down." The shorter man sidestepped, waving his hands. "You're making this waaaay too complicated. Just schedule a nice couple dinner and  _ask_ him."

"I tried that!" Dean said, flushing again as Castiel looked on. "I-I couldn't do it. I choked up."

"Okay, so maybe  _write down_ what you're going to say so you don't forget."

Dean scowled. "That's not the problem!"

"So what is?" Castiel interjected, sage blue eyes meeting his. "Are you afraid?"

"No!"

"Oh, there you go," Gabriel snarked to his fellow lieutenant. "Enraging the Alpha. This is going to end well."

"Maybe you need to think about what's bothering you first." Castiel suggested, ignoring Gabriel. "Once you figure that out, you won't choke up. But until you do..."

Benny sighed from the corner. "You're lucky the girls aren't here. This is the most soap opera-shit I've seen all month."

Dean went pale. "You're not telling  _any_ of them about this conversation. Got it?"

Everyone in the room nodded quickly, and that only made him feel the slightest bit better. "Christ. What if he doesn't even want to marry me?"

"That's for him to figure out." Gabriel said perceptively. He was standing suspiciously close to Castiel all of a sudden. "All you gotta do is ask, man."

"If only it were that easy." Dean put his head in his hands.

"Do you have a ring yet?"

Sudden horror overtook him.

"Oh, Christ.  _Shit!_ "

* * *

The Russian drug cartels had been doing war with the Mexicans for some time now, but it had taken a few months for all-out war to really kindle. Sam understood the technical aspect of the fighting-it was all about land. He and Dean did similar things when they wanted to defend their turf.

The difference between them was what they were willing to do. Vicious and precise, Sam understood he was a little cold at the center; however, that didn't defend the killing of innocents, children especially. That had never been condoned in his organization, and it wasn't in Dean's.

The problem with being the reigning power in a large city was the capitulating. He and Dean had taken their places at the head of Chicago, and the drug cartels built on that. Both sides wanted alliances and agreements that gave them more territory and less restrictions. Both wanted the opposite for the other, possibly at the expense of Sam's sanity.

Today was the first day of tenuous, almost nonexistent negotiations between the two cartels. Done at the request that he broker it, Sam had agreed, if only to keep the peace. Dean had offered to go along to the meeting, ostensibly to be the backup in case anything happened. Since the meeting was being held in a warehouse somewhere on 26th, this made Sam feel just the tiniest bit more sure someone would find his body if this all went south.

"You excited?" Dean asked him in the limo as they drove to the building. Sam shook his head.

"I don't think this is going to turn out well."

"I have faith in you, college boy." the other man said with a smirk, something secret dancing behind his eyes. "You could talk me into an armistice."

"Yeah, but doing it in Russian is harder." Sam said, shaking his head. He peeked out the window. They were a few blocks away still. "I know you're fluent, though, so please don't hold back."

"конечно нет." Dean said, making him smirk. The car braked softly as they arrived at their location.

Sam looked at the two of them, wearing black and at least three different weapons each. They were even pulling up in a limo, to make things worse. "When did we become such haughty bosses?"

"After the city tried to kick our asses, and we made it sit down and lick our shoes."

"Mhm."

Dean disembarked gracefully from the limo. He looked powerful and sure in that moment, buttoning his jacket against the wind with a dark gaze. The other man put a hand out for Sam. "Coming?"

The two crowds were standing separately inside the room, both most likely having showed up thirty minutes early to scope out the room and glare at each other. Sam saw the two heads standing near the center and walked towards them immediately, Dean on his heels.

"Ivan. Felipe. Glad you could make it." Sam shook hands, making introductions in a low, careful voice. He gestured behind him. "This is Dean."

"Mr. Winchester." Ivan said, shaking Dean's hand. Felipe did so a moment later, obviously irritated the Russian had gotten to it first. "We've heard so much about you."

"Good things, I hope." Dean said charmingly, drawing a laugh out of both leaders. Sam let a diplomatic smile settle on his face and turned to the two groups.

"Let's get things started."

(line break)

Of course, things didn't go well. Dean knew that from the start, and Sam's perceptive summary in the limo only assured him. Rival factions never got along easily; he and Sam were a small exception, and even they had had to work at it.

Which is why, twenty minutes after Sam's smooth introductions, the two sides were converging on each other, hands on their holsters. A tall Russian was screaming at Felipe, the Mexican boss, running into the shoulder of the Russian boss, Ivan, who didn't look all the inclined to stop him.

"You shut the  _fuck_ up! You shut the fucking hell  _up_!" The man was screaming, his screams falling into vulgar Russian. The Mexicans looked apprehensive, muttering between each other.

Sam was surreptitiously face palming to his right, lips shaping obscenities. Dean stepped protectively in front of the other man when the Russian suddenly pulled a gun.

"No.  _No_." Sam was muttering to himself, glaring at the angry Russian. "You do  _not_ get to ruin my negotiations." He grabbed his slim Beretta from his waistband and shoved his way in front of the angry gang member. "Sit the  _fuck_ down right now before I blow your face away,  _сука_."

The two crowds hesitated, shocked by Sam's outburst. Sam pressed the gun against the Russian's forehead and cocked it. "Sit.  _Down._ "

The whole room acquiesced, slumping back to their earlier positions without a word of protest. Sam looked like an avenging angel standing above all of them, his gun still pressed against the gang member's forehead. He looked fierce and in control, and it made Dean's heart beat faster.

Tight black silk shadowed the smooth column of Sam's throat as he spoke quickly and quietly in Russian with Ivan. After a terse discussion, he lowered the gun. Dean caught the edge of an incendiary comment from the petulant gang member and leaned forward.

"What did you just say?" Sam asked, voice echoing as everyone in the room chorused a mental  _oh shit._

The gang member sneered, looking him in the eye for the first time.

"I said,  _go fuck your whore somewhere else_."

Sam's lips twitched. A second later his gun was in the air, firing off a deafening shot. Dean flinched as blood and brain splattered the two groups, the Russian dropping to the floor.

Felipe looked happy with the turn of events, while Ivan looked decidedly torn. Sam turned to the group, a deadly calm look on his face.

"Anyone else have anything they'd like to say?"

The lack of noise was a testament to Sam's level of badassery. Dean couldn't help but smile as the two factions hung their heads, backing off from each other.

He opened his mouth to add something and felt emotion take over him. Now. This was the moment.

"...Marry me."

Sam spun on his heel, gun still in his hand. Everyone in the room paused.

" _What_?"


	16. Think of Me (I'll Never Break Your Heart)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean make a startling announcement, even if they don't mean to. The tension between Castiel and Gabriel grows. The rest of the organization is really just wondering what the hell is going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Yay, the next chapter! Thanks to everyone who reads, you guys are awesome. Please enjoy!

_**Before** _

_"Anyone else have anything they'd like to say?"_

_The lack of noise was a testament to Sam's level of badassery. Dean couldn't help but smile as the two factions hung their heads, backing off from each other._

_He opened his mouth to add something and felt emotion take over him. Now. This was the moment._

_"...Marry me."_

_Sam spun on his heel, gun still in his hand. Everyone in the room paused._

_"What?"_

* * *

Dean felt all of the eyes in the room on him, and in that moment, he couldn't give a damn. He took a step forward, holding Sam's gaze.

"I said...will you marry me?"

He saw Sam's eyes go wide as he knelt slowly to the concrete floor. The beretta in his hand lowered, the room giving a noticeable sigh as it did. "Dean...don't kneel. Not in front of them."

The worry on his partner's face made him smile. Dean fumbled for his back pocket, drawing out a small, velvet box. He saw Sam's breath catch as he opened it. "You're the only person I'm ever going to kneel to, Sammy."

Inside were two elegant rings, fashioned from onyx and a halo of black diamonds. He watched as Sam's lips twitched, like he was going to say something. "Dean…"

Terror almost overtook him at that one word-the doubt he could hear there. Sam could say no, he realized suddenly, Sam might say no. He looked up into those hazel eyes, that beautiful face he was blessed to see every morning. "Y-yeah?"

"...Yes."

Dean felt the blood drain out of his face. " _What_?"

" _Yes_  you idiot." Sam pulled a bitchface, but his eyes were suspiciously wet. "Yes to marrying you. Or did you forget your own question?"

He pulled himself onto admittedly shaky feet and grabbed for Sam, forgetting the rings in his panic, Oh, God, Sam had said  _yes._  Yesyesyesyesyesyesyes. "Wait,"

Sam's face was muffled, pushed into the crook of his neck. "What?"

"I need to put the ring on you, dumbass."

Dean pulled away, getting a soft punch to the arm for the insult. He almost dropped the little velvet box in his haste to remove the two rings. Grabbing Sam's hand, he placed the first of the pair on his ring finger, sliding it on with no resistance. Perfect fit. "Christ."

"What?" Sam asked, vaguely curious. He was looking down at the ring and then to Dean's face, wide-eyed.

"I had to guess the ring size. You're lucky I'm awesome."

"You could've just asked Gabe." Sam said, a twinkling smile catching Dean awestruck. This was the man he was going to marry. "He knows it."

"Hell no. I don't trust that little shit to keep  _any_ secret." Dean said, feeling a blush travel up his cheeks at the memory of his discussion with the lieutenant. A shiver went through him as Sam deftly grasped the second ring, sliding the cool metal onto his own finger in one, precise movement. "Shit."

"We match." Sam said, giving him a soft kiss. Dean almost gasped into it he was so deliriously happy, realizing only a second later that they still had an audience. He turned to find the two gangs still standing there, motionless.

Someone snickered on the Russian side, and Dean caught onto them like a hawk. Ivan was hiding a laugh behind his fist, the arrogant bastard. "That better not be laughter."

The boss raised his eyebrows, still chuckling. "You can't expect me to  _believe_ this, bo-"

Dean pulled his Magnum out and aimed it straight at the man's bald, egg-shaped head. "Why don't you rephrase that?"

Ivan's eyes widened to the size of saucers. "I meant, uh, let me be the first to offer you both such  _glorious_ congratulations! Wonderful blessings on the pair of you from our...organization...today!"

" _No,_ we are the first to offer blessings!" Felipe, the other boss interjected. He glared at Ivan, only to offer a sunny smile to Dean. "Your marriage will be legend in our group! Celebrated every year!"

Sam sent Dean a knowing smile as they both figured out where this was going. His fiance put on an innocent expression. "Really?"

"No!" Ivan interrupted furiously, pointing at Felipe. "It will be a  _national_ holiday in our factions! We will gift many presents to the happy couple!"

"We will gift  _more_!"

Sam stepped between the two before (more) bloodshed was necessary, winking at Dean.

"Gentlemen...I believe there is a way to work this out…"

* * *

Sam and Dean returned to the warehouse around two a.m. that night. Gabriel only knew that because he'd been waiting up. Why had he been waiting up? A grumpy little, malcontent lieutenant named Castiel.

"I'm sure they're fine." He said to the other man for what felt like the millionth time, shifting into a more relaxing position on the couch. Castiel was sitting on a hard wooden chair near the window, peering out between the curtains every ten seconds. "They've got more power in between the two of them than most government officials. They're probably just fucking somewhere so none of us have to hear it."

"Gabriel," Castiel sighed, passing a hand across his face. Even he was beginning to look tired. "You don't have to reassure me."

"So go to sleep."

"No."

"See, that's why I keep doing it then." Gabriel yawned, stretching. He didn't miss the way Castiel's eyes drifted towards his stomach, watching the shirt ride up. "You're being paranoid."

"And you're being lax."

Gabriel wrinkled his nose, affronted. "I just have a sixth sense about these things. I have  _ESPN_."

"ESPN?" Castiel's mouth quirked. "I believe you meant-"

" _Mean Girls_? Never seen it?" Gabriel shook his head, leaning back into the couch with a dramatic sigh. "Jesus, you're boring."

"And you're acting like a child." Castiel said, taking his eyes off from the window to glare at him. "You're not exactly helping."

He returned to gazing out of the window like a left-behind puppy, motionless. The damn chair had to be killing him after six hours, but the lieutenant hadn't as much as complained. Gabriel grabbed his cellphone and tried calling Sam again, watching it go to voicemail for the 113th time.  _This is Sam, leave a message._

"Hey, Sam. Yeah, it's Gabe. Look, Castiel's worried and he won't stop whining and scratching the door." Gabriel looked over at Castiel as he spoke, barely able to resist laughing at the man's affronted expression. "I think he needs to go  _outside,_ if you know what I mean. Call me back."

"I am  _not_ a dog." Castiel said firmly, standing for the first time in six or seven hours. He walked over towards Gabriel's perch. "And you are  _getting on my nerves_."

Gabriel smiled wide, watching the man's approach with careful eyes. "I try."

" _Leave_."

He crossed his arms defiantly. "Make me."

A moment later they were grappling, swinging at each other as Castiel tried to grab for his throat. Gabriel landed a quick rabbit punch to the lieutenant solar plexus, only to get a wicked hit across his jaw in return. He roared his frustration and caught the man's shoulder in between his legs, pulling them both to the floor in a pin.

Castiel landed on his chest with little grace, driving the breath out of both of them. Gabriel looked up at the other man, inches from his face, and fell silent.

The other man looked fairly surprised, like he hadn't expected them to stop fighting. He was breathing heavily, a thin sheen of sweat covering his skin. Gabriel opened his mouth to say something and suddenly the other man leaned down.

Castiel kissed him softly, almost chastely. Gabriel took a few seconds to realize that, yeah, that was the other man's mouth pressed against his, followed swiftly by the realization that the man could  _kiss._

"Cas?"

"Mhm." The lieutenant said, pressing open-mouthed kisses along his neck, taking a second to suck on Gabriel's collarbone. He shivered at the pull on his flesh, fire racing through him as Castiel's hands started moving all over his body.

Gabriel had to bite off a moan. "Cas."

The lieutenant lifted his head, showing off a pair of kiss-bitten lips. Gabriel almost came right then and there. "Do you...want me to stop?"

"The  _door_."

Castiel leapt to his feet immediately, Gabriel quick to follow. A second later the missing bosses stumbled through the doorway, drunk as hell.

Sam was laughing, slung over Dean's shoulder while the other man fumbled with a ring of keys. The second they saw their lieutenants they stopped, blushing like a pair of high schoolers. Dean stepped in front of Sam, waving a hand.

"Hey….y'all are dismissed for the night." He looked at Sam, who was struggling to hide a bottle of Daniels behind his snickering partner. Dean turned back to Castiel and Gabe, smiling widely. "Go...have fun!"

"Dean." Castiel said firmly, hiding his pants with the front edge of his trench coat. (Gabriel wasn't as lucky, and decided to hid behind Castiel's leg). "Where were you?"

"Celebrating." Dean said, stumbling back to Sam who caught him with a giggle. The bottle of Jack sloshed a little onto the carpet, which made Mama Cas unhappy. Sam only added to his disapproval by dropping the bottle as Dean kissed him. "I said y'could go, man, okay? We're good."

Castiel peered at the man, unhappy with his answer. "What's that on your hand?"

Sam chuckled, grabbing Dean's head with one hand and pulling him over for another sloppy, drunken kiss. "Let's tell 'em, huh?"

"Fineeeee." Dean whined, but he was smiling goofily. He turned back to the two lieutenants, joining his and Sam's hands and raising them up. "We're getting married!"

"Hallelujah, he said yes." Gabriel said honestly, happy to see the two fiances being...well, fiancees. Castiel gave Dean a proud smile, patting his shoulder.

"I am happy for you and Sam."

The boss flushed a little. "Thanks, Cas."

"Thanks!" Sam added, giggling a little as Dean's hand wormed its way under his shirt. The two started making those eyes at each other again. "I'm tired. Can we go to bed?"

Dean acquiesced, hauling Sam towards the stairs without pause. "Sleep well, guys."

" _Bed_." Gabriel said, shaking his head with a fond smile. Castiel was still standing by the doorway, unmoving. "Hey, big guy. We gonna pick up where we left off?"

Castiel turned, face catching the streetlight as he walked towards the back stairs. "Goodnight, Gabriel."

"Good-what the  _fuck_?" He tried to follow the other man, but the lieutenant slammed the door shut. Gabriel felt something within him hurt at the sight of the closed door. "Well,  _fuck you_ too!"

Then he walked over to Sam's forgotten bottle, planted his ass on the floor and took a swig.

* * *

"Something's up."

Ruby's declaration was met with little surprise from the table, which consisted of Benny, Jo, Meg and for some reason, Chuck. Jessica was frying eggs at the stove, singing along to some weird-ass indie music and therefore not paying attention.

"Ahem." Ruby reiterated, looking around the kitchen table. "I said, something's up around here. Anyone got ideas?"

Meg tossed her fork in the air, catching it. "It's….your birthday?"

"No."

"Well, shit. That was my only answer."

"Sam and Dean aren't down yet." Benny said from the other side of the table. "But that's not new."

Jo broke out into giggles at that, but quickly returned to holding her nose as a cloud of smoke from the stove wafted towards her. "Christ, I hate being pregnant."

"Jo's pregnant!" Meg added helpfully. "That's different."

"You know what, Meg, if you're not going to be helpful, don't say fucking shit at all." Ruby said, glaring at the other woman. "Chuck, what do you think?"

The accountant blushed then paled immediately, an impressive feat. "I, uh-well. Castiel and Gabriel aren't here?"

Ruby looked around the kitchen. "Well, shit. You think they finally did it?"

Benny looked resigned, already reaching for his wallet when Gabriel stormed into the kitchen. And boy, did Ruby mean  _storm_.

"Morning, Gabe."

The lieutenant grunted, walking over to the coffee pot and pouring himself a cup. He kicked the cabinet where the sugar was when it wouldn't open, only jamming it further. Another grunt and two teaspoons of Splenda later, and the man was beelining it out of the kitchen. A full twenty seconds had passed.

"...damn." Meg said, trading a glance with Ruby. "What crawled up his ass and died?"

"Not Castiel, apparently."

Even Benny looked shocked, though he was rubbing Jo's back sympathetically as the woman gagged. "I think you found your problem."

Ruby was about to respond when Castiel entered the kitchen. The entire table turned at the sound of the man's unusually heavy footsteps. He stumbled into the kitchen like he'd been out all night, hair mussed in every direction, clothes crooked. He even had the beginnings of a beard, or what Ruby's mother would call a  _heavy_  five o'clock shadow.

Nobody spoke as the lieutenant poured himself a cup of coffee from the same pot Gabriel had just touched. Downing it quickly, the man turned to leave, running into someone in the doorway. Surprise, surprise, it was Gabriel.

Everything fell silent as the two men stared at each other, immobile for an infinite amount of time. Jessica stopped singing, muting the television as Meg grabbed her fork. Chuck didn't look like he was breathing.

"Gabriel." Castiel said eventually, curt.

The other lieutenant narrowed his eyes. He had a horrible bruise across the right side of his face. "Castiel."

The two exited the kitchen from different doors, not looking back. The entire group heaved a sigh of relief as the tension dissipated.

"What the  _fuck_ was that all about?" Ruby exploded. "You think they slept together or something?"

"Doesn't look like it." Meg said, tossing another fork absentmindedly. She must have picked up the habit from Sam. "Looks like they're pissed as hell at each other."

"Weren't they buddy buddy just last night?" Benny asked. "They were standing awful close after dinner, and they were still together in the front room when I went to bed last night."

Jessica finished flipping her eggs, piling them onto a plate. "I don't think it's any of our business."

Ruby fixed her girlfriend with a glare. "Since when do you care about privacy?"

"Those two could kill each other and most of us without even trying if they wanted to." Jessica said, carefully depositing a bowl of cereal in front of a nauseous Jo. "The fact that they chose not to makes me nervous."

Meg nodded. "Thank God Sam and Dean never fight. That would be awful."

"My ears are burning! Anyone know why?"

Everyone turned towards Dean's voice, finding the two bosses at the doorway. They were barely dressed, covered in red marks and bruises. Unlike the previous pair, they actually looked happy.

Sam smiled uncertainly at them, obviously confused by the muddled energy. "Morning, guys…?"

Ruby's gaze immediately zeroed in on the taller man's hand, still draped casually over Dean's shoulder. " _No_. That's not what I think it is."

"What?" Benny leapt to his feet, following her gaze. "No. Nonononononono.  _Shit_ , Ruby, that's my last hundred!"

Dean sighed at their antics, but he grabbed Sam's hand with a smile. "It's official."

Jessica literally  _screamed,_ bouncing up and down like a little girl as Ruby joined her, Benny's money in hand. Jo sent them a heartfelt smile through the chaos. "Congratulations, guys."

Sam actually blushed, leaning further into Dean's arms. They looked so harmless in pajamas, just holding each other. "Thank you."

"Mazel tov!" Meg said, getting up to inspect the rings. She whistled. "Jeez, Dean. We gonna have any savings after this?"

"Depends on the wedding." Dean said, trading a glance with Sam. "Which, we've decided isn't going to be too big. Just the family."

"The family?"

Sam gestured at the table. "You guys. We're all family now, technically."

"You sure about that?" Ruby looked at Jessica. "Because then, I'm gonna have to confess to some terrible things I just did this morning with my sister in law…"

"Ew." Dean said, waving his hand at them. "I don't need to hear about that."

"Then I don't need to see your junk in boxers every morning, Winchester!" the footsoldier retorted, waving her hands. "You think we all can't see your bite marks on Sam? You think we just have magic forgetting glasses?"

Sam blushed, but Dean just laughed, poking at one of the marks in question and making his partner jump. "Funny. Speaking of, you seen Castiel or Gabriel?"

Everyone in the room looked at each other, falling silent. Dean raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't sound good. Somebody spill."

"Castiel and Gabriel just ran into here a few minutes ago all bitchy, they looked at each other, got more bitchy, then walked out." Meg accurately summarized, shrugging. "Maybe they got into a fight or something."

"Didn't you run into them last night when you came in?" Benny asked. "They were waiting up for you when I went to bed."

"Honestly, I don't remember a lot about last night." Dean confessed, rubbing his head. He turned to Sam. "You?"

A wide grin split the other man's face, and he whispered something in his partner's ear, making them both smile. Dean smacked him playfully. "Besides that, you oversized puppy."

"They were talking when we went upstairs." Sam said, taking a seat at the table. Dean sat unceremoniously in his lap, leaning into his chest with a relieved, obviously hungover sigh. "I don't remember anything else."

"Ah ah ah." Jessica whapped Dean's hand with the spatula. "No wandering hands in the kitchen! I don't care if you're getting married."

"Jeez," Dean withdrew his hand, rubbing it. "Fine, fine. Glad to see our organization loves me, as usual."

The doorbell rang, splitting the moment. Chuck quickly volunteered to get it, escaping the kitchen with a relieved expression. A few moments later he reentered the kitchen, leading in Crowley.

"Crowley." Dean said, eyeing him curiously. "To what do we owe this pleasure?"

The lawyer ignored him, moving over to Jessica and grasping her hand. "Love, would you be a doll and turn on the national news?"

Jessica, flustered, grabbed the remote and turned on the TV as Ruby fumed. Crowley turned and grabbed a seat next to Sam, pointing at the television. " _That_ would be why, squirrel."

The news headline was in all caps, bolded.  _DEAN WINCHESTER AND SAM WESSON, BUSINESS MAGNATES AND PREVIOUS DEFENDANTS TO MARRY, REPORT SHOWS._ Above the text, a local Chicago news anchor was discussing the engagement, a picture of the two of them above her head. Dean groaned as he recognized the bar they'd been in the night before in the background.

"Shit. There goes the element of surprise."

Sam laughed. "You kind of sprung it in front of the entire Russian and Mexican gangs. You think they weren't going to talk?"

"Wait, what?" Ruby asked. "You  _asked_ him in front of the  _Russian_ mafia?"

"And the Mexican." Crowley sighed, shaking his head. "Dean, how trite."

Dean's phone made an alarmingly loud noise, causing both him and Sam to wince. He pulled it out of his pocket, fumbling with the screen. His expression changed after he read the message. "Well."

Sam peered at it. "What?"

"Ivan just sent in our "wedding gift" to my private account. To the tune of 3 million dollars."

Even Crowley looked impressed. Ruby whistled, while Sam looked curious. "Think you can get Felipe to give you more?"

Dean frowned. "It's not like we need the money."

"I know. I have an idea." Sam said, sending his fiance a smile. "I wanted to build something around here. Maybe a community center, or something."

"A community center." Crowley said dryly, looking at the taller man. "Well, it would help your public image. The "Winchester-Wesson" center has a nice ring. Unless you're taking Dean's last name, of course."

"Whatever you want, babe." Dean said, leaning forward to kiss Sam. They started making out, causing Crowley to scoot his chair away, horrified.

"Stop, stop! Christ, you're on his  _lap_!" The lawyer said, waving his hands. "This is a  _kitchen_! You're not even newlyweds yet!"

"Hey, Crowley, why don't you and Chuck go draw up plans for getting a permit for the community center." Dean said over Sam's head, dragging his fiancee to his feet. "We're gonna go take a nap."

"A  _nap_. At nine in the morning." Ruby said dubiously, but her boss was already moving towards the door. She sighed, looking at the group. "I don't know what's worse, Castiel and Gabriel fighting, or those two sucking face at every opportunity."

Muffled thumping came from the floor above them, making her sigh.

"Nevermind. Definitely the second one."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Reviews are love! :)


	17. Red Eye Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the 24/7 Gabe and Cas show, baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Sorry for the wait! On the brighter side, I got accepted into college, so go me. Hope you enjoy this week's chapter. :)

"That's a roger on targets one, two and three. Can I get a visual on the ground?"

Sam peered down the rifle's laser sight, angling his head. The Bluetooth headset in his ear buzzed with noise, at least three different people reporting over each other. Through a haze of static, he heard Gabriel ordering everyone to be quiet, a second later confirming visual. He breathed in. The night around Sam was still silent, save for the footsteps of three very gullible Italians six floors below.

"Roger on the visual." Sam murmured into his mike, evening out his breaths as he leaned across the rooftop. Behind him, Benny straightened into a more defensive position, covering his back. "Standing by for targets. Delta delta four, delta delta five and delta delta six. Engaging, three, two..one."

A muffled pair of shots burst from his rifle, barely breaking the silence. The first man crumpled to the ground, two bullet holes through his heart and the back of his head. The other two Italians scrambled, running in a panic to cover by the warehouses on the right. Sam calmly sighted on them and followed the pair with the crosshairs, pressing the trigger twice in quick succession. Both fell immediately, a nice portion of their brains cooling across the sidewalk.

"Damn." Benny said from behind him as he sighed, cracking his knuckles. The action made more sound than the rifle had. "I still don't know how you shoot like that. At least Dean'll be happy none got away."

"It's all for him," Sam replied cheekily, stretching from his flat position. He began undressing the rifle, hands moving over polished metal, undoing clasps and screws. A quick buzz in his ear drew his attention. He tapped it, allowing the incoming call. "Yeah?"

"Hey babe," Dean's said in his ear. "You busy?"

"Busy?" Sam looked down at the three Italian corpses on the sidewalk and shrugged, still field-stripping the rifle. Benny snorted next to him. "Nah. What's up?"

"I'm at the store. You want anything?"

"We need milk." He admitted, running over the list in the back of his head. "And, uh, condoms. Maybe some lube?"

Benny started gagging to his right, a fist over his mouth. Sam ignored him, pausing to listen to Dean's breathing. When he spoke again, his voice was a few notes deeper.

"That it?"

"Yeah. Unless you want me to pick up dinner?" Sam stored the rifle in the slim case he'd brought, handing it off to his blushing lieutenant. With a gesture they were descending the stairs, on their way to meet up with the ground team as Dean chattered in his ear. "No, I can grab sushi, that's fine."

Benny took the rifle and walked Sam over to the SUV stashed by the warehouse. The rest of the men were taking their own cars, save for Gabriel. Sam's concern for the lieutenant was broken as Dean murmured something obscene in his ear, making him flush. "Yeah yeah yeah. Okay. See you in a little while. Bye."

He tapped the headset, hanging up the call. A moment later Gabriel opened the SUV's door, hopping in. Benny gave him a quick nod and started the car, driving them away just as police sirens wailed to a crescendo across town.

"Good hits. Nice and clean." Sam told his lieutenant, smiling slightly. "You think the Italians will guess it was us?"

Gabriel was uncharacteristically quiet, turning his face into the window, watching the passing lights. "No."

"Good." Sam settled into the seat, pulling his coat around him. Jesus, Chicago was cold in the winter. Nothing like Palo Alto, that was for sure. "Hey. You wanna do dinner with me and Dean tonight?"

The lieutenant glanced at him briefly, a look of distaste flashing across his features. "What, and waste all that sushi?" At Sam's surprised face he snorted bitterly. "Maybe you should turn your comm off public next time, loverboy."

Sam felt himself flush again but shrugged it off. Who cared if his men heard? He'd said worse in public, and so had Dean. But he was confused by the ire he heard in his friend's tone. "So that's a no?"

"No." Gabriel said firmly, turning to face the window again. Sam raised an eyebrow but didn't comment on his bad mood. He turned towards the driver's seat.

"Benny?"

"Gotta babysit Jo." Benny said, shrugging. "Ruby n' Jess are having date night, and they didn't wanna leave her alone."

Sam mused on this, thinking about Gabriel's earlier responses. "Why don't you just bring her? I'll pick up sushi for everyone, we can have a big get-together. When was the last time we were all in a room together, anyway?"

His lieutenant paled noticeably against the seats, changing to a furious blush a moment later. Ah, so Sam had hit a nerve. It had to be Castiel, there was no doubt. He made a mental note to call Dean on private comms later. "So, does Whole Foods still do good sushi?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" Benny asked, taking the corner a little quickly, already changing their direction. He knew Sam too well at this point. "They charge five bucks for water, man. I can't eat there even when I work for you two. I don't make enough."

"You don't make any money because you bet it all away to Meg and Ruby." Sam admonished, fixing his lieutenant with a glare in the mirror. "You know, in some circles, "chronic betting" is how they pronounce  _gambling problems_."

"Shut up. I don't have a problem." Benny said, flushing as he turned them into the Whole Food's parking lot. "I'll be waiting out here. That place gives me the heebie jeebies."

"Who even says 'heebie jeebies'?" Sam asked, turning to share a smile with Gabriel at the jab. His lieutenant was still stony-faced, back facing him as he got out of the car robotically. The boss wrote out a quick text and followed, reminding Benny to keep the heater on.

"Hey, Gabe, wait up!"

* * *

Dean snorted as he got Sam's text message, shuffling the three grocery bags in through the backdoor of the warehouse. Playing with Gabriel and Castiel's little tiff? That sounded like the most fun he'd had in weeks outside of Sam. Sure, there were hurt feelings between the pair, but nothing serious. Nothing he'd feel guilty about messing with, that was.

Even in the haze of the engagement, the two of them had discussed their lieutenants' relationship. The knuckleheads were dancing around each other for a reason, not just because they could; otherwise, firearms would have been used by now. Dean put the groceries away and took his and Sam's supplies upstairs, flipping his cell phone idly in his hand. What to do, what to do….

He passed by Gabriel's room at the end of the hallway and had a brilliant idea. A quick text to Sam and he got permission, albeit reluctantly. Sam always was the nicer one.

"Hey, Chuck!"

The accountant poked his head out of the second-floor conference room, a roll of tax documents in his hands. "Y-yes?"

"Come help me with something, yeah?" Dean smiled politely, hoping he was wearing the right expression. "It's quick, I promise."

"With w-what?" The accountant asked, face paling slightly. Dean sighed internally and pointed.

"You see that room on the end? I need your help moving everything in it to that one." Dean said, moving his finger to point at another room, on the other wing of the residence floor. "Then we're going to move everything in that room to the other one. And I need you to do it quickly."

"But...Why?"

Dean sighed out loud this time, searching for a response. "Because...Because….I pay you. And Castiel and Gabriel need to fuck already, or this organization is going to implode."

Chuck went silent for a moment. For a brief second, Dean thought he'd permanently damaged him. Finally, the accountant squeaked. "F-fair enough."

"Great!" Dean went into Gabriel's room, peering around. "Come help me move the bed."

* * *

By the time Sam got home with Benny, the entire warehouse seemed to know it was open season on Gabriel and Cas. The latter still hadn't returned from his business for the day, but when Sam walked in with Gabriel, a few snickers sounded. He sent them an icy glare, including a few mouthed promises of what he and Dean would do if they squealed.

Meg hung around the doorway, dressed in her best black dress and making stilted small talk with Gabriel, who kept making poorly-timed excuses to leave. Eventually, the smaller man just up and left in the middle of Meg's sentence, drawing an amused smile from the foot soldier. Sam frowned disapprovingly, but she missed the expression.

As he learned on the way upstairs, apparently all the nightly plans had been cancelled in favor of squashing Castiel and Gabriel into dinner together. While they were still serving sushi, the meal had been moved into the large dining hall they never used, complete with china and silver (of unknown and most likely illicit origin) and a wide oak table.

"Hey." Sam said when he found Dean upstairs, ducking into their private rooms. He locked the door and looked around for good measure, keeping his voice low.

"What the heck's going on? I thought we were just doing some, you know, small stuff."

"Yeah…" Dean was looking in the mirror, tucking in his shirt. An untied bowtie hung around his neck, making Sam's thoughts drift briefly. "Well, I might have enlisted Chuck's help, and Chuck might have talked to Ruby, and Ruby talked to Meg…"

"Shit." Sam said, shaking his head. He shrugged out of his heavy jeans and coat, throwing them on the bed. "You should know better. He snitches the second someone even  _looks_ at him."

"You don't think I know that?" Dean queried, ducking into his suit jacket. Sam felt a ripple of arousal in his stomach as he recognized the Armani fabric "Look, we gotta roll with this. Make Cas and Gabriel sit next to each other. Lock 'em in a closet or something. Hell, we could even make them pick out color swatches with us."

"We still have to do that." Sam reminded him firmly, getting a kiss on the lips for his trouble. When Dean pulled at his shirt, he protested. "Hey, I'm serious."

"You know what I'm serious about? That white suit you were wearing last time." Dean murmured into his neck, practically purring as he shoved hands up his t-shirt. "You should wear it. So...sexy...Since we gotta be so fancy tonight..."

Sam saw stars as Dean's hands wandered, struck dumb. His mouth moved to protest, but no sound came out. A moment later he found his voice. "...ohh-kay. Okay."

Dean's smile was the last thing he saw before he was thrown back onto the bed, blinding white against his dark suit.

* * *

Benny sat in one of the chairs in the lobby, watching a tired Jo Harvelle rub circles into her belly. The blonde looked even more petite than usual, dwarfed by the size of her stomach. The twins were gaining weight healthily, the doctor had said. While Jo had been excited, the lieutenant had heard her cursing her husband's name more than once in the bathroom. It had to be tough.

"Feeling okay?"

"That's a redundant question." Jo said, but she gave him a tired smile. Somehow, Ruby had found a maternity evening gown for the smaller woman to wear. She looked radiant in a light green tulle dress, her hair done in loose curls that hung around her face. "But thanks."

"You thinking what I'm thinking about tonight?" He asked, giving a pointed look towards the dining room. Jo snorted.

"I'm thinking it's a hell of a day to be alcohol-free."

Benny grimaced. "I'll stay sober in...comradery?"

"Bullshit."

"Yeah, you're right." The lieutenant watched carefully as Castiel walked in through the front doors, his trench coat covered in congealing blood. Benny winked at Jo. "Looks like showtime." He raised his voice. "Hey, Castiel!"

"Benny." The other lieutenant's eyebrows raised slightly as he noticed their attire. "Am I forgetting something?"

"Dean and Sam request your presence at a dinner tonight." Benny repeated as Sam had instructed him. "Formal clothing is required."

"Dean has never done something like this before." Castiel frowned, blue eyes troubled. "Did he give a reason for the celebration?"

"Are you questioning his orders?" Benny intoned, watching Jo smother a giggle out of the corner of his eye. Castiel paused, then shook his head firmly. "Good. Go get dressed. You have twenty minutes."

Castiel left without another word, trailing blood up the stairs. Chuck passed him in the middle of the flight, eyes bugging out at the sight of the blood. Benny sighed and turned away, eyes settling on Jo.

"Why do I have a feeling this night isn't going to go well?"

Jo shrugged. "When do they?"

"When my last 500 bucks are on it suceeding," Benny swallowed, thinking about Sam's earlier words. "Hopefully."

* * *

Castiel was still wearing the blood of the two people he had  _interrogated_ that day, though it wasn't for lack of trying. He'd cleaned both of the prisoners when he was done, should anyone claim he wasn't courteous. Of course, the last prisoner had decided to spit blood all over him right when he'd finished. Apparently he'd been hemorrhaging internally for quite some time, unbeknownst to Castiel. The point was, it was a lot of blood on a very clean, bright trenchcoat, and it made him a walking target until he'd returned home. All he wanted to do was change into normal clothing, and get the bitter, iron smell out of his nostrils.

"Castiel." Sam passed him in the hallway, wearing a familiar looking suit. Actually, it was just the suit pants, but he found no energy to comment on it. "Good to see you."

"Sam." He inclined his head to the boss, though he barely had enough energy too. "I heard you're having a celebration tonight."

"We are. I hope you'll come." Something was a little off in the man's face, though Castiel was unable to place it. Sam pointed at the office, presumably where he'd left the rest of his clothing. "Well, I'll just be going…"

"Of course. Until later." Castiel turned away without a second glance, barely catching the movement of two figures at the end of the hallway. It looked like Dean had accompanied Gabriel to his room, dressed in his black tuxedo. Castiel firmly avoided looking at Gabriel and opened his door, fumbling with the keys.

No. No, this was not happening. Not to him, not now.

His entire room had been switched around. In reality, switched was a terrible descriptor.  _Nothing_ in his room looked familiar; his bed was missing (replaced with a  _bunk bed,_ of all things) his neatly-organized dressers were gone. His drapes had been switched, and were now an offensive shade of orange. Three posters of Batman hung where his mirror had been; a collection of smurf dolls lined the window.

"Chto... _yebut_." He felt the swearwords hiss out between his teeth, absolutely enraged. There was only one person who could have done this. " _Gabriel_!"

* * *

Gabriel heard the other lieutenant's scream just as his own room registered. He looked around at the cashmere, earthy-toned furnishings and felt his lunch rise up his throat. There were shag carpets and...God, could it be?  _Potted plants._

Without a second thought he rushed out into the hallway, furious. The other man was already there, standing next to a confused-looking Sam Wesson. Dean was just walking around the corner as Gabriel opened his mouth. "What the  _fuck_ did you do to my room, asshole?"

Castiel's eyes grew even icier. "I didn't do  _anything_."

"Then why the fuck are all your shitty  _carpets_ and  _potted fucking plants_ in my goddamned room?"

"Maybe because you can't stop playing jokes!" Castiel pushed forward, the chests almost touching as he shoved Gabriel. "Maybe you're just so desperate for attention you have to pull shit like this in the first place!"

"Guys, guys." Dean walked forward, separating them with a firm hand on their chests. "Let's not fight. We're celebrating tonight."

"Celebrating." Castiel said dryly, sending Dean a vicious glare. "Really?"

"Are you telling me you hold no respect for the, uh, commitment ceremony Sam and I are about to perform tonight?"

Gabriel barely stopped a snicker as Castiel paled. "Of...of course not, sir."

"Great." Dean clapped his hands together, looking at both of them sternly. "Then I'll see you downstairs in a few minutes."

Gabriel sent one last glare at Castiel and stepped away, walking into his room and slamming the door loud enough that the walls shook.

* * *

Sam barely held his laughter in until they made it back to their rooms, finally collapsing onto the couch in agony. "Oh my god. The looks on their faces."

Dean grabbed Sam's shirt and tuxedo jacket, throwing them onto the chuckling man. "They didn't even  _think_ it was us."

"And what you  _said_." Sam rolled over, laughing even harder. "Commitment ceremony? Before we get married? How does that even work? We have  _sushi_ downstairs, not filet mignon."

"Hell if I know." Dean sat next to his partner, giving into a wide smile. "Castiel's face was priceless. It's about to get worse, too."

"Why?"

The boss' grin grew evil.

"We switched their clothes too."

* * *

Dinner was eventually pushed back, though the reasons behind that decision were still being debated outside of the dining hall. Jessica and Meg were firmly convinced that everyone was giving Castiel and Gabriel time to cool down; Ruby declared that Sam and Dean were having  _private time_ upstairs, and no one could really argue with her.

Half past seven came and went. Gabriel trudged downstairs in a suit and tie, looking like a cheap bail bondsman on a bender. He didn't speak to anyone, still dripping from his shower. Apparently, according to a brave footsoldier from Sam's side who'd snuck upstairs, the two lieutenants had an even less polite encounter in the bathroom. A grudging exchanging of clothes had taken place, devolving into another shouting match.

Castiel was still nowhere to be seen, but seeing as Sam and Dean were late to their own party, it was moot.

"They'll be making out by the end of the night." Benny told Meg, who was only barely listening. "You'll see. I'm not losing this bet."

The other woman fixed him with a dubious look. "Good luck with that, sugar."

The crowds (around 100 people now, who knew they had this many?) began to rumble as Castiel descended the stairs. He wasn't wearing his typical trench coat and tie ensemble, instead trading it for a slim navy suit. Even Meg looked curious as the crowd followed him with their eyes, the lieutenant unaware of the attention.

Sam and Dean chose that moment to enter via the back entrance, because of course they were too pretentious to use the stairs. They were wearing their trademark black and white suits, yin to each other's yang. Benny watched the pair carefully, a little taken aback. They looked powerful stunning, and it was obvious they knew it.

"I'd like to invite everyone into the dining hall." Dean called out to the crowd, getting a rising cheer. "Thanks, guys. Go ahead on in. Your name tag is on your plate."

Benny watched as Dean carefully directed those words to Gabe and Cas, laughing to himself as the two men frowned at the same time. He held his hand out to Jo and escorted her in, finding their seats next to each other at the first of three large, oak tables in the room.

Sam and Dean took the head places at the table, sitting immediately and gazing across the room. Castiel and Gabriel were some of the last people to sit, and by that moment the only two spots left were right next to each other. The entire room knew exactly what was going on, and it looked like the lieutenants were beginning to catch on.

Gabriel felt himself flush a bright red as he and Castiel bumped into each other on the way to sit down, unable to remember why he was angry but stubborn enough to remain that way. Everything about the other man made him angry; his snotty attitude, his pretentious dressing, his stupid carpets. The other man seemed to feel the same way, sparing no subtlety as he glared on and off at Gabriel for the duration of the appetizers.

And,  _God._ The man kept moving. Kept shifting. Kept lifting his arm and setting it down, brushing against Gabriel's hand  _every. Single. Time._ By the end of the first course (dragon rolls, go figure) he was about to burst.

Gabriel refused to look at Sam as he stood, exiting the dining room as the room hushed.

Castiel followed him a second later, entering the quiet hallway before Gabriel could leave. "And where do you think you're going?"

"Away." Gabriel snarled, lashing out behind him with a quick fist. Castiel took the hint and stepped back. "Get the fuck  _away_  from me.  _Jesus_."

"You're leaving Sam and Dean's celebrations." The lieutenant accused. "It is rude and childish, though those are both traits I've become to expect from you."

"Fuck you!" Gabriel roared, turning around and getting right in his face. "Fuck you and your uppity sarcasm! I  _hate_ you! You're the worst person I've ever even  _met,_ and I met Castro!"

Castiel bared his teeth. "You're acting like a child-"

"And you have a stick the size of  _Canada_ up your ass-" Gabriel pushed at him, tottering dangerously on the steps. "Get-away-"

The two of them tipped forward, Castiel automatically grabbing onto the other man's lapels as they began moving. They had climbed over twenty steps for the duration of their argument, and, with a painful crash, they fell down them together as well.

Gabriel hit the bottom stair with a thud, only to roll onto Castiel, who hadn't been as lucky. They were pressed tight against each other and in a decent amount of pain. He felt something hard against his leg and looked at the other lieutenant, strangely empty of all of his previous anger.

"Castiel?"

The man's blue eyes looked apologetic, if that were possible. "Are you hurt?"

"No. Look…" Gabriel trailed off, not even trying to move. Castiel's chest was firm and warm, rising and lowering with each breath. "Why did you-why did you leave, the other night?"

The other man looked away, eyes flicking upwards. "I'm...sorry. For the way I acted."

"Great." Gabriel said doubtfully, already moving to roll of the man. "Sure, okay…"

"No!" Castiel grabbed his arm firmly, restraining him from moving. "I am. I'm sorry for what I did, and how I acted. I was rude to you."

"...I was rude to you too." Gabriel admitted as well, smiling sheepishly at Castiel. They traded silence for a moment, breathing in and out. "You can make it up to me, you know?"

Something pressed a little  _harder_ against his leg that second. "Hm?"

"Wanna try these stairs again, cowboy?"

Castiel smiled, and in fluid movement had Gabriel in his arms. The next second they were climbing the stairs, and this time, they most definitely didn't fall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Okay, I know, it's a little cut off, but I didn't have time to write the sex scene. Next chapter? I promise. Hope you enjoyed!


	18. Sinnerman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean prepare for their wedding, but a new player throws in a shocking revelation. Dean deals with a crushing guilt, but it's going to get worse before it gets better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Sorry I've been absent for so long. A few days ago I celebrated my birthday, so that was nice. This chapter is dedicated to LeeMarieJack, who definitely needs it right now:)

The man stood close to the edge of the harbor, watching the sunrise with some interest. The city was just starting to whirr to life, a far cry from New York and its 24/7 feeling of movement. Chicago stayed up to have fun, but even the mob had finished its business around four in the morning. Only the street cleaners and the homeless were out now, ushering in the sunrise.

"Jay. We got confirmation on the targets, man."

The boss didn't turn as his lieutenant's voice broke the calm, lips twitching in distaste. Across the harbor, the sun hinted at the horizon, licking it orange and red. He nodded at his subordinate, walking away from the pier.

"Jay man. You hear me?"

"I heard you." The cars were idling back by the marina, but all he could see was the next day in front of him, like invisible lines pulling him into the city. "You got everyone racked up?"

Chris jumped into the SUV next to him, sprawling across the seat. "The old man's in the trunk. He been makin' a lot a noise, so me n'Bill knocked him out a few hours ago."

"Get him out."

"N-now?"

The man raised an eyebrow, refusing to answer. The lieutenant jerked upwards, stumbling out of the SUV. A quick conversation passed between two of the guards. The trunk was opened, exhaust spewing into the car. The man stepped out into the daylight, rubbing a spot on his cuff idly.

"Get on your fucking feet!" Chris was muttering, towering as the man moaned into the concrete. He stood next to his lieutenant, head tilted.

John Winchester was a mess of blood and bruising. His hair was matted with coagulated blood, trailing down to a face that was more bruises than not. Swollen eyes stared skyward, but the man made little noise.

The lieutenant kicked him in the ribs, finally drawing a gasping cough. "Up!"

"Is there a problem?"

When Chris saw his boss next to him, the orders grew more frantic. "Get up!"

Winchester groaned, blood trailing from his lip as his head swiveled from the lieutenant's kick. The boss observed calmly as blood bubbled between the man's lips. "Whuh…"

"Lash him to the rail." The man said, locking eyes with the prisoner. Dull panic grew in the older man's eyes. Chris and two other men acquiesced quickly, zip-tying Winchester's arms to the corrugated metal.

"What….evah you want." The older man whispered with swollen lips, his breath a tremulous whisper. "Fuck...you."

"John, John. You know, you're not as untouchable as you think." The boss chided, settling on his heels in front of the man. "I don't give a shit about your son's stipulations."

"I'm n-not giving...up...anything." Winchester leaned forward, eyes narrowed to slits. A second later he spat blood at the boss' feet, face twisted. It hit the sidewalk near his shoes. "Anything."

The boss stood, unholstering his pistol. Winchester shut his eyes a moment before the bullet tore through them, smashing a hole the size of a potato into his face.

He continued to stand there, gun still outstretched as Winchester's body jerked, caught in grisly death throes. Breathe. In...out.

"You won't have to."

A minute passed, maybe two. Chris tapped his shoulder, interrupting his reverie. "Boss, we gotta go."

The man glanced backwards, spotting the idling SUVs. "...of course."

"You think it's gonna send the right message?"

His lieutenant opened the door for him, ushering them into the SUV. "War on the father, the predecessor; it always ends the same way. Always symbolizes the same thing."

Chris looked puzzled, shrugging it off with a flippant smile. "I trust you, man. You're gonna do this city good, Jay."

"Good." The man said simply, drawing a strange look from his lieutenant. He motioned for the driver to go with a lazy finger. "You ready?"

"Ready. Yeah." Chris swallowed nervously, still sprawled across the seats with a haughty look in his eye. "What are you thinking, boss man?"

"I'm thinking…" He smiled as the first rays of sun caught him through the window, momentarily distracted. "I'm thinking a lot of empires are going to fall in the next few months."

"Right, Jay." Chris shrugged, closing his eyes and slumping backwards. "Maybe you need to cheer up. This weather is getting to you."

The boss only looked out at the grey, snowy streets and smiled even wider as they passed by.

* * *

Dean sat in front of the row of windows in his office, paperwork in hand. A frustrated groan rose from deep within him as he looked down at the message on the paper. Giachinno wanted another meeting, because of course he did. As far as he was concerned, the bastard could shove it up his ass.

God, what he'd give for a day of peace. Dean let the paper drop to the floor, stretching idly. Their wedding seemed like years away, and even the preparations seemed to be going slow. He wasn't much of a patient person, that much he'd learned.

"Tough day filing?"

Sam's voice filled the office, a truly welcome distraction. A warm hand settled on Dean's hip a second later. The boss let out a relieved sigh as his partner began kneading his back, closing his eyes in ecstasy. "You have no idea."

"Mmhmm. Why don't you tell me about it?"

Dean cracked open one eye, his smile widening as he spotted the bloodstains on Sam's knuckles. "Looked like you had a busy day too."

"Eh. Nothing to call home about. The Italians were getting rough," Sam cracked something in his back, making Dean groan loudly. "Of course, I reminded them how we felt about armed robbery on our turf."

"Armed robbery? That's what they tried to pull?" Dean closed his eyes again, feeling a rush of desire surge through him as Sam's deft hands rolled down his back. "Lame. Maybe I'll call up Giachinno after all, make fun of him..."

His partner snorted. "Yeah. That and some carjacking. Nothing a few shattered kneecaps couldn't fix."

"Unh," Dean felt a knot loosen in his back, moaning under his breath as they moved over towards the couch. "Keep talking, I love it."

"Well," Sam sounded bemused, voice dropping into a honeyed drawl. "I had a conference with Ivan today, who sends his best wishes. Again."

"Ew. Totally just killed my vibe."

"...and then I had a nice little conversation with two Italians, three chairs, a pair of handcuffs and a sledgehammer."

"Yes." Dean grabbed Sam by the shoulders, hauling him onto the couch with a quick push. His partner let himself fall onto the pillows, gazing up at Dean with flushed cheeks. "When's your next meeting?"

Sam blinked. "Three. You?"

"Two-thirty." Dean glanced at the clock on his desk and grinned. "Wanna set a new record?"

"Are you sure you have-"

The phone on his desk immediately began to ring, splitting the silence. Dean groaned, burying his head in Sam's chest. "No no no no."

"You don't have to answer it." Sam said softly, carding a hand through his hair. Dean twisted away reluctantly, standing up.

"That's my official phone. I kinda have to."

Sam tsked as he made his way to the phone, twisting on the couch in a way that made Dean want to run back over there. He glared at the phone, picking it up roughly. "This better be fucking important."

"Dean. You need to come downstairs right now." Castiel's voice held no humor, only urgency. "Bring Sam. There's a car waiting."

Dean felt his heart freeze, a million images flying through his head. "Sam, get your coat and haul ass to the garage."

"Hurry." was all Castiel said, hanging up before he could protest. Dean growled and threw the phone, running to grab his overcoat. Sam was dressed and waiting at the doorway when he returned. Together they took the stairs three at a time, diving into the waiting SUV in the bay.

Gabriel was sitting inside, eyes hooded. Dean asked no questions as he whispered in Sam's ear, instead opting to grasp subtly for his partner's hand.

After a moment the other man squeezed back. But the set of his shoulders giving away the anxiety of whatever the smaller man had told him.

The SUV took the streets at 70 miles an hour, careening around corners. Dean couldn't help but grow nervous with every turn, an emotion he wasn't familiar with. Where, who, what, why? DId he need a gun?

"Prepare him," Gabriel said to Sam, ignoring Dean's confused stare. "Get ready."

Sam nodded, reading something in his lieutenant's eyes Dean couldn't discern. The SUV pulled up to a pier on Lake Michigan, overlooking the bay. A circle of cars surrounded one of the decks, filled with members of their organizations.

Sam got out first, making room for Gabriel. He grabbed Dean's hand, his grip like a vise. Dean didn't complain, feeling his dread grow as he saw Castiel ahead, a grim look on his face.

"Sam…" Dean murmured, steeling himself. "Are we in danger?"

His fiancee shook his head, refusing to elaborate. Castiel spotted them then, walking over with his head bent. Sam raised his chin, getting a deferent nod from the lieutenant. "Please follow me."

They halved the crowd of people and cars, stepping over the weathered planks as they approached the pier. Sam's hand tightened, but nothing could have grounded Dean for what he saw

his father's body, against the pier's railing, arms stretched above him. They were bound in a mocking crucifix of bloody zipties. The dark liquid permeated every inch of his father, centering on a deep gunshot above his left eye. Dean felt bile rise up in his throat, trapped in disbelief. John…

"Who…"

The bullet wound mocked him. Of course. The hit, that damned, stupid contract. Someone had taken care of John, someone who didn't give a damn about the money. Dean felt his knees give out and felt vague surprise, still studying his father's face. How had he known it was him? The body was barely recognizable, a mess of bloated bruises. The left wrist was horrifically broken, bent at an impossible angle.

The white gleam of exposed bone was all Dean could see before strong arms ensconced him, caging him in.

"No!" Dean shouted as the arms pulled him away, fighting against their hold, swinging and hitting nothing. "You have to...you have to call someone! Please, I-"

Voice surrounded him and he lashed out. His fist finally connected, and he swung again and again and again

* * *

Castiel stood as close as he dared to the scene, Gabriel fast at his side. He watched as their bosses came upon the scene, watching the minute details as Sam clenched Dean's hand; the small, unintentional gasp as a young boy finally saw his father for the last time.

The second his boss' knees weakened, Castiel stepped forward and whistled shrilly. "Disperse! Now!"

Their respective organizations scattered instantly, but it was too late. Hardly anyone missed the sight of a unconsolable Dean striking Sam, drawing blood from the man he loved most.

"Shit." Gabriel muttered at his side, breaking into a sprint. Castiel just stood silently, hand steadying on the pier as Dean roared in Sam's hold, finally collapsing to his knees, head thrown to the sky as rain came down and down and down.

* * *

Sam held his bloody nose with one hand, hoping his palm was large enough to cover his split lip as well. Gabriel was pressing a few tissues into the wounds one-handed, trying to guide him to a bench with the other.

"I wanna see Dean," he said around the blood, wincing. It'd only been a few months and here he was, broken cartilage in hand yet again. "Where is he?"

"Cas sedated him, kiddo. He ain't waking up for a while." Gabriel said quietly, devoid of all his usual humor. "He really fucked you up."

Sam sighed. "Don't. I can't imagine what that was like for him."

"Sam, he hurt you."

"And I've hurt him." Sam groaned as his lieutenant pushed his nose back into place, feeling tears prick at his eyes. "Christ, what he must be going through. I need to be there when he wakes up."

"Sam-"

The boss fixed him with a withering look. "If you know what's good for you, you'll take me to him absolutely right now."

"Sir." Gabriel inclined his head, leading him to a nearby SUV. "Before we go…"

"The body." Sam guessed, watching his lieutenant pale at his tone. "Take it off the railing. Call the funeral home and arrange for a funeral next week. He was a shit father, but he was Dean's only family. We're not leaving him out here in the fucking rain."

"Sir." Gabriel ducked out of the SUV, tapping the side. Sam idly noticed Benny was driving, choosing to remain silent, stemming the blood from his nose.

* * *

Dean woke alone in his private rooms. The windows were shuttered, the only light stretching under the crack in the door. His arms reached for Sam, mind stumbling as he found nothing but empty sheets.

"Sam?"

A muffled noise answered him. Sam was immediately at his side, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Hey, hey. Dean."

Dean watched as his partner stood carefully at the bedside, not coming any closer. He rubbed his eyes. Oh God, he didn't want to remember. John…

"What did they give me?" he asked hoarsely, wincing as his bruised fingers fleed. "Sedative?"

"Yeah." Sam came no closer still, a shadowy figure against the wall. Dean looked closely at him, dawning horror overtaking him as he saw dark shadows on his partner's face.

"Turn on the lights."

His partner sighed. "Dean…"

"Do it."

A quick flick of the lightswitch was all he got, but it was enough. Sam's face was horrifically swollen. Bruising surrounded both of his eyes. His lips were stiched at the bottom, flecked with blood.

"Christ. I can't believe you even want to look at me." Dean said, falling back onto the bed. He wrapped himself around the pillow. "Sam...I'm so sorry."

A hesitant hand touched his back, then began rubbing it, little slow circles that drew tears to his eyes. "It's...okay. It's gonna be okay, Dean."

"I…" Dean tried to say something, but his throat betrayed him. It cut him off, and he turned his face away before his voice could falter. Sam wrapped around him hesitantly, legs twisting together. A slow hand carded through his hair, making the deep, hollow feeling in his chest ache and ache.

Sam said nothing as tears fell down his cheeks, rubbing slow circles until Dean couldn't cry anymore, falling into a restless sleep.

* * *

**2 Months Later**

"Dean, Sam is waiting for you downstairs."

Castiel waited in front of the door, hand outstretched to knock again. A few weeks ago he would have broken down the door, but he knew it was locked.

"Dean, please open the door."

Gabriel shook his head next to him, a grim set to his lips. "Just give up, man."

"He needs to get up--or do something." Castiel sighed, turning and walking away, irritated. "He's locked in there every day. Even Sam cannot talk to him. What do I do?"

Gabriel put a hand out, catching his boyfriend's wrist.

"It's not your fault he's like this. Losing a parent is tough, man. He needs time to....grieve."

"He's grieved before." 

The lieutenant. "Not for a parent."

Castiel looked around the warehouse, missing the echoes of laughter and roughhousing. Gabriel patted him on the shoulder and descended the stairs, leaving him alone on the banister.  _What am I missing?_ he wondered. Footsteps behind him made him startle, momentarily hopeful. 

"Hey." Sam's face was eerily pale, drawn into a strained smile as he saw Castiel. "How's it going?"

"Poorly." Castiel accompanied his commander down the stairs, noticing the coat on his arm. "Are you going out?" It would have been the first time in almost...months. Sam had been enough of a ghost on his own, save for Dean's care. 

"Jo needs a shopping partner," Sam said, flashing a genuine smile for just a second. He ducked his head, avoiding Castiel's gaze. "How's he, uh--"

"Asleep, I assume. Again. He won't answer my calls." 

"Great." Sam sighed, eyes fluttering closed briefly. "Keep an eye on him, will you?"

He turned to leave, but Cas caught his arm, mirroring Gabriel's earlier motion. "Are you sure you want to go out?"

"It'll be fine." Sam said, glancing down at his hand. "...I'm not the one who needs your concern, Castiel."

Dismissed and a little stung, Castiel watched as his leader left for the parking lot, a bad feeling settling in his gut. 

* * *

 

"So Dean and you are getting on well?" Jo asked as they crossed the street.

Sam blocked a smaller man from tramping the pregnant woman, sending her a mystified look as the guy passed. "Is that a thinly veiled innuendo?"

"No!" Jo blushed, heightened by the wind burn across her cheeks. The whole city seemed to be bitter and whirling this week; the irony didn't escape Sam. "You're fiancees. You're gonna get married in a few months. I know how that was."

"Thanks for asking." Sam sent her a strained smile as they walked into another boutique. Another maternity place, but it was warm and well-lit. Jo immediately grabbed a shopping bag. "We're fine. I think having the wedding in a few weeks is a great idea."

He neglected to mention the fact that they'd been sleeping in different rooms for the past two months. Or that Dean couldn't bear to look at him in the hallways anymore.

"Why's that?"

Sam's face darkened slightly, but he tried to keep his smile honest. "Dean's been….distracted with John. You know how it was months ago." He shrugged. "I don't think he's mad, just...lost. It's like he's a little boy again, and this image he has of his dad is still there, you know? He can't get rid of this great father figure in his head. Even if John hasn't been that man in decades. He feels guilty, I think."

Jo paused where she was browsing frocks, fingers clenching over the thin fabric. "That's gotta be tough."

Sam dipped his head, avoiding eye contact. "He deserves to be happy. I'll do anything to make that possible."

Jo studied him, eyes pensive. "You're a good man, Sam."

"That's nice of you to say." He said, slipping around the question. After a curious look from the cashier he clapped his hands together. "So! What's in this store?"

"Sweaters, I think." Jo turned, walking stiffly to the next row of shelves. "Christ, I think I just waddled."

Sam made a discouraging sound. "I'm sure it wasn't a waddle. Maybe a brisk trot."

"You sound like Castiel." Jo groaned good-naturedly, putting a hand to her back. "I think I'm going to pop any minute now."

"Please don't." Sam felt the smack before it came, wincing. "Okay, okay. Please do it somewhere closer to the hospital. I don't think I can carry three at a time."

Jo huffed, swatting at him again before her attention was caught by a display of maroon sweaters. Sam (wisely) surveyed in silence, thinking about Dean. It seemed cliche, but daydreaming about another person often made him feel...warmer.

The idea that he and Dean were so close to being married made him nervous, sure, but it was also like this fantasy. A touchstone, just for him. That man was so different from the one that haunted their warehouse, barely moving from his office couch, or responding to a touch. To be honest, Sam missed the other man, missed him more than he could say or do.

"Do you need help, Ma'am?"

Jo smiled at the saleswoman. "No thank you. But you have a lovely selection!"

The woman leapt on Jo's politeness. "Oh, of course! If you look over here, actually, we just put up our new section on form-fitting casual dresses…" Sam watched as Jo was led off by the pushy employee, waving sarcastically as she rolled her eyes. He felt a pang of regret a second later.

Dean was the one who did these kinds of things with Jo. Dean should've been here, making jokes and laughing at her expense. Sam pulled out his phone and sent him a quick message. I love you.

Once upon a time, he'd have a response in less than a month. Now, Sam bet Dean's phone was somewhere on his desk, buried with the other shit he couldn't bear to look at.

"You ready?"

"Yeah." Jo had two sweaters in her basket, moving firmly towards the checkout at a slow pace. "Thanks again for taking me out shopping. This can't be the most fun thing you could do."

"What, besides sex?" Sam said, winking at Jo and making the cashier blush as they pulled up to the checkout. He pulled out his platinum card, handing it to the woman. "What happened to the stereotype about gay men liking shopping?"

"I think the only thing you and Dean like are each other." Jo said seriously, handing the card to the cashier who rang it up wordlessly. "Sometimes I get worried."

"Don't." Sam murmured, grabbing his card back. Jo was promptly handed her bags and receipt. He turned her collar up for her, taking the bag. "You ready?"

Jo nodded. "Let's go home."

"I parked out around the corner." He squinted outside, trying to see if it was snowing again. "You might wanna wait here inside."

"Bite your tongue. If I'm only going to mobile for a couple more weeks, I might as well make the most of it." Jo pushed the double doors open herself, straining slightly. "Jesus. It's freezing out here."

"Told you to stay inside." Sam smirked, grabbing the keys from his pocket. Sure enough, the streets were clearing, the wind scattering most of them. He could feel the ice crystals whip across his skin and turned his face away. "We're over here. Shoulda had Benny drive us, huh?"

"And pay his gambling debts? I thought Dean was trying to curb that."

"I'm still gonna pay my employees, even if they might technically be Dean's." Sam spotted the car across the street, surprised by the lack of traffic. He put his bluetooth earpiece in, ready to call Benny to come pick up Jo. "Jeez. Storm must be bad if no one's out."

Jo made a humphing noise, treading across the snow carefully. Sam walked behind her, watching. A couple trucks idled at a red light up ahead, headlights illuminating the snow.

Three men in black turned onto the sidewalk, moving much faster than Jo was. Sam watched them carefully, hackles rising as they didn't move out of her way. He glared at them, finally watching them pass on the right.

"Hey Jo?" Sam looked backwards. Out of the corner of his eye, the three men rejoined and turned around. "You armed?"

"No?" The pregnant woman looked alarmed, moving to look behind them. Sam cupped a hand around her waist, drawing her attention forward. The traffic light turned green, and it didn't take a genius to know what was coming. "Why?"

"Listen to me. Take my beretta. I have another." He handed her the gun, shuffling with the bags in his hands so it wasn't obvious. "The car's unlocked. When I say so, run there as fast as you can and lock yourself in, okay? I'm gonna call Cas."

Jo's eyes were wide. "Sam-"

"Do it. You have to promise me." Her hands looked frail around the gun, but he knew she could handle it. The three SUVs careened towards them, breaking the eerie silence on the street. "Now!"

Jo broke out running, gun in hand as Sam heard boots crunching behind him. He ducked as the first swing came out of nowhere, sending the man to the ground with a well-placed shove. Just in time, the two other men dove in, grabbing for his throat. Sam grunted, teetering backwards and wondering if this was going to be a fair fight.

A quick grab for his other beretta and the two men were dead on the ground, a third shot through the head of the other before he could stand. Sam stood in between them, watching the SUVs as they slowed to a stop in front of him.

"Sam Winchester."

His attention was drawn to the man at the front who'd spoken, a taller man with dark, smooth skin. Brown eyes sparkled with intelligence as they met gazes. Another dozen men got out of the cars to stand next to him.

"How can I help you?" Sam gestured with the gun, putting on a broad smile. "It is the holidays. I thought you guys took breaks?"

"We're not the usual crowd," the smooth-speaking man said, drawing closer. Sam fingered the knife in his sleeve, wondering if he had time. The man gestured at the idling SUVs. "Care to have a chat?"

Sam tappd his ear subtly, forwarding a call to Castiel. "I don't have your name, yet you seem to have mine. How is that fair?"

"Sam?"

The man smirked, the expression somehow graceful. He turned to his men, smile turning sleazy. "Beat him until he passes out. Then take him."

Sam gritted his teeth, swinging at the first man as the boss turned and exited. He met the first guard in the middle, kicking and swinging. A quick twist and two rabbit punches to the man's kidneys and he was on the ground, a double tap from Sam's gun taking him out. The second man caught him across the mouth, bringing back awful memories.

He shot him in both knees for good measure, relishing the man's screams as he went down. A third, fourth and fifth man came and went in similar ways, dead or close to it when they hit the ground.

The single lieutenant stood on the snowy street, alone. Sam shrugged, discarding his empty gun. He steadied himself, making note of the knife still in his sleeve. "What's your name?"

"Chris." the lieutenant said, cracking his neck. "You wanna make this easy on yourself, kid?"

Sam smirked. "Never."

The lieutenant dove and feinted at him, surprising Sam. He blocked a vicious punch to his neck, finding their strengths similarly matched. He kicked out, jabbing at a muscle in the man's thigh. The other man groaned and knocked him across the temple, stunning him with the sloppy punch.

"Time to go, kid." The man hauled him by the hair, struggling to get him to his feet. "C'mon."

Sam dove up, the knife in his sleeve sliding into his palm. He caught the lieutenant across the face, slicing deep into his cheek. The lieutenant screamed, flying backwards, hands scrabbling at his mutilated face.

"Sam," Castiel's voice said in his ear, "Hold on, Dean's almost here-"

Sam saw more men jump out of the trucks, knowing his fight was over. He breathed heavily, feeling strangely dizzy. Maybe it was another concussion. "Tell him I love him, okay?" He steadied himself anyways, knife in hand. "Tell him to find me. Four SUVs,"

The men got closer. Sam lashed out at the first one, hissing as he was knocked to his feet, still talking as loud and as quickly as he could. "License plates Charlie, Delta, Zebra, three zero four-shit." Sam tasted fresh blood as the other four converged, gasping for air. "S-Seven, maybe eight men. Leader's black, about 6'4", his lieutenant's got a fresh scar on his cheek-"

A fist caught him under his left eye, and everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Reviews are love :)


	19. We're Killing Strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean raises a little hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Hey guys! Two updates in one week? Crazy. I hope everyone enjoys. Warning: Sections of this are going to get a little dicey, and some are shamelessly stolen from Person of Interest.

**_Previously_ **

_"Time to go, kid." The man hauled him by the hair, struggling to get him to his feet. "C'mon."_

_Sam dove up, the knife in his sleeve sliding into his palm. He caught the lieutenant across the face, slicing deep into his cheek. The lieutenant screamed, flying backwards, hands scrabbling at his mutilated face._

_"Sam," Castiel's voice said in his ear, "Hold on, Dean's almost here-"_

_Sam saw more men jump out of the trucks, knowing his fight was over. He breathed heavily, feeling strangely dizzy. Maybe it was another concussion. "Tell him I love him, okay?" He steadied himself anyways, knife in hand. "Tell him to find me. Four SUVs,"_

_The men got closer. Sam lashed out at the first one, hissing as he was knocked to his feet, still talking as loud and as quickly as he could. "License plates Charlie, Delta, Zebra, three zero four-shit." Sam tasted fresh blood as the other four converged, gasping for air. "S-Seven, maybe eight men. Leader's black, about 6'4", his lieutenant's got a fresh scar on his cheek-"_

_A fist caught him under his left eye, and everything went black._

* * *

Castiel seized Gabriel by the arm the second the line went dead, dragging the other man up the stairs. Dean's room sat at the landing, blissfully ignorant and untouched. Castiel felt a fury he'd never experienced overtake him; he released Gabriel at the top of the stairs, removing his gun. He shot the lock three times, desperation racing through his veins.

"What the  _fuck_ …" Dean was on the sofa, disheveled and pale, stirring at the intrusion. Castiel paid his surprise no heed, crossing the room in three strides and placing the gun alongside his commander's head.

"Your arrogance, your grieving has gone on too long," he hissed, pressing the weapon into Dean's temple until he saw true pain flicker through the man's eyes. "Do you know where your partner is?  _Do you_?"

"Sam…" Dean said, dazed. "Cas…"

"Do you know that, not two minutes ago he was taken by the same people who killed your father and you sat here doing  _nothing_?!"

"Taken." Dean sat up, jostling against the gun. His next words were a growl. "Castiel-"

"And you did  _nothing!_ " Castiel reiterated, feeling panic take over his voice, his lips moving with defiance. "You sat here and mourned a man who has never done anything for you, and you forget your own mate. You  _forsake_ your own mate."

"I have done no such thing," Dean hissed, standing and squaring off against his lieutenant. "Where is Sam?"

" _Fuck_ you." Castiel spat, levelling his gun again. He pointed it between wide green eyes. "Get off your ass. Get up. Find Sam. Did you know he spent his last breaths trying to reassure you, make tracking him down just that little bit easier? That he was utterly faithful  _Dean Winchester_ would find him?"

Genuine regret flickered in his commander's eyes, and Castiel knew he had been swayed. He lowered the gun, an understanding passing between the two of them; not lieutenant and boss, but as two equals.  _Find Sam._

"Get his GPS records to me now." Dean snapped at Gabriel, ignoring Castiel. He snatched a coat off the dusty hook, patting the small of his back. "Where was he taken?"

"Near downtown, by one of the stores." Castiel bit down on his lip, cooling his fury. "Jo is still there. He got her into the car safely and they took him."

"Get me a car. Get everyone organized. I want people on streets, on the airwaves. I want a patrol at every corner." Dean grabbed a Glock from the top drawer of his desk, cocking it with one motion. "Issue a formal declaration to the city. Sam returned to me within in 24 hours, or I'll tear Chicago down. Anyone who shelters the kidnappers will get even worse."

"Sir." Castiel inclined his head and left to prepare the car. Dean's eyes glittered in the near darkness as he left, sharper than they had been in months.

Gabriel followed him out, chasing after him.

"Holy shit."

Castiel merely shrugged. "If he wasn't going to listen to reason, he will listen to threats."

"You're going to get fired after this." They descended the steps quickly, Gabriel murmuring briefly into his comm. "Really. You just held a gun to the head of  _Dean Winchester_."

"I don't care," Castiel retorted. They passed a group of men clad in black, suiting up with weapons per Gabriel's orders. "Any progress on the license plates Sam called out?"

"We've got one partial and a couple guesses. Illinois plates, possibly rentals-"

"Castiel," Benny appeared, holding a sobbing Jo in his arms carefully. The pregnant woman steadied herself, grabbing Cas' arm. The guard transferred her delicately, outrage plain on his face. "She needs to talk with you."

Castiel lowered her to the floor, kneeling quickly. "Did you see who took him?"

Jo's tear-streaked face was outlined with hate. "Five or six guys, all in black SUVs. They jumped us outside of Jenny's. They had guns. They were organized. Oh God," Jo breathed heavily, chest heaving. "And then-this man came out. I was running to the car but I saw him walk up to Sam. They were talking, and then-then he said, he said to beat him until he passed out, and take him." She cut off with a gasp. Castiel laid a kind palm on her shoulder.

"So they want him alive." Castiel felt a small ray of hope shine over them. Gabriel calmed Jo quickly, rubbing her back. Around them, a mess of weapons, hurried conversations and arguments were swirling. "We need to find this man, find who knows about him."

Benny grimaced, looking around the room. "Good luck organizing a brute squad out of this mess."

Castiel allocated Jo to Gabriel and stood, about to whistle shrilly when a gunshot shocked the room into silence. Everyone froze.

Dean stood at the foot of the grand staircase, dressed in all black. He waited until everything was quiet before he spoke, voice icy.

"I want a team of twelve men. I want two teams to follow Benny and Gabriel. Castiel is my acting XO; you don't see me, you ask him." Dean Winchester cocked his head, fixing the room with a deadly gaze, Glock still in hand. "If anyone fucks this up, so help me God, I will end you. Any questions?"

A dozen men formed a line instantly, two other distinct groups gathering around Gabriel and Benny. Dean nodded once at his lieutenant, motioning to the door. Castiel spared a look for Jo, still on the floor, breathing heavily.

"Are you going to be alright?"

Jo pressed a hand to her stomach, rubbing it over and over again. She looked towards the doorway Dean had exited.

"I'm gonna have to be, aren't I?"

* * *

A bag of C-4 sat in the backseat, along with three duffle bags of automatic weapons, grenades and knives. Dean slid behind the wheel of the Impala, Cas in the passenger's seat without an order. The twelve men he'd assigned were in two SUVs behind them, armed to the teeth.

Dean waited all of three seconds before peeling out of the basement, revelling in the scream of rubber on concrete.

"Gabriel and Benny are tracking down the partial license plates," Castiel read off quickly, a hand braced against the frame as they took the corner on two wheels. "Where are we headed?"

Dean ignored the red lights he sailed through; if the SUVs had a hard time catching up, it was their own fault. "Giacchino's."

"Why?"

"Because, two months ago, that idiot of a man was talking about a new player on the scene." Dean flew through another major intersection, vaguely noting the speedometer was in the triple-digits. "And I didn't know what the fuck he was talking about."

The Italian's place was just a few blocks away. Dean was out of the car before it stopped moving, gun out in plain sight as Castiel backed him up.

He kicked the door in, walking into a polished hallway. The apartment was lavishly furnished, complete with an open-concept living room larger than Dean's first floor. Castiel motioned to him from the doorway, tapping the frame four times. It meant  _four men, armed._

Footsteps clattered on the hardwood. Dean waited and shot the first man he saw, the bullet exploding into the man's throat. Castiel spun, taking out another guard as Dean shot two more descending the stairs,  _bang bang_ , so easy and simple he barely spared a thought for the blood he was spilling.

A beautiful, ornate double staircase sat in the center of the entryway. Dean climbed it with bloody hands, hearing voices above. Castiel took the other set of stairs, gun at the ready. Blood soaked the black tangles of his hair.

Two more men rushed down the stairs, bullets in their knees a moment later. One toppled down the stairs, crashing into the bannister a story below. He landed with his neck at one angle, his body at the other. Dean almost laughed.

"What the  _fuck-_ " Giacchino was saying as they barreled into his office, motioning at his remaining guards. Dean shot both in between the eyes, sighting on the Italian hardly a second later. The boss became horrifically pale, sweating noticeably.

"Do you-do you  _understand_ what you just  _did_?"

"Two months ago," Dean gritted his teeth, stepping forward. "You talked about a new player on the scene. Where is he?"

"I don't know  _anything_!"

_Bang._ Dean shot at the man's knee, watching it shatter with distant amusement. The man screamed, collapsing around the ruins of the joint, moaning and rolling on the floor. "You wanna lose another one?"

"I  _swear-_ "

He shot the other knee at close range, watching the blood and cartilage blossom on the man's pants. Giacchino  _roared_ with pain, close to sobbing. "Give me a name and an address,  _cagna_ , or I'll start on your elbows."

"J-Jay. They call him Jay." Giacchino gasped, tears rolling down his face. Blood was pooling underneath him, spreading into the cream-colored carpet. "His guys patrol on 76th. I don't know anything else. I swear, I swear  _per favore non mi sparare per favore-"_

Dean stood, disgusted. Castiel watched him carefully as he turned to leave. "Finish him."

"No-wait-"

A single gunshot filled the room, then nothing.

* * *

Sam turned his head drowsily into the pillow, idly wondering why the left side of his face felt numb. He frowned, trying to touch his cheek. His hand wouldn't move. Why wasn't it moving?

A smooth hand carded its way through his hair, scratching his scalp. Sam moaned at the friction. Something was wrong. He felt fatigued, but the touch was like ecstasy, stroking the live wires of his skin. He curled into the hand, gasping. God, so good.

"Hey, Sam." a voice purred, honey-soft into his ear. "You awake?"

Sam felt feverish chills run down his back, but it only made him harder. His hips moved, but he had no control. "...I d-don't know."

"Sure." The voice said, and God, it made him so hard, so hard to hear that voice. "You know where you are?"

"...No."

"You want me to touch you?"

Sam felt dizzy, trying to open his eyes. "...D-Dean?"

"No. Dean's not here."

"Why…" Sam slurred, blinking. The room was a mess of red and black and colors, so he closed his eyes. The hand started in his hair again, making him moan. "...Who're you?"

"He's going to come for you," the voice said assuredly, patting something on Sam's arm. It stung a little, so Sam blinked his eyes again. He saw something metal, maybe a needle. It was plunged deep into his arm, taped there. The hand dug into his scalp, a warning, and he turned away. "Do you want him to?"

"Dean..." Sam whispered, turning his head away.

The voice pressed up against his neck, lips on his pulse. "I love you more." the man whispered into his skin, wretched. "I love you more than he ever could, Sam."

Sam didn't understand this, but the thought drifted away. The hand soothed him, and a moment later he was asleep.

* * *

Castiel practically ran to catch up with Dean, jumping into the Impala's front seat, gun still plain and visible. Dean pulled off from the curb with a screech of rubber, one hand on the wheel. They screamed down 13th street, taking a corner so quickly he almost slipped out of the open window. Dean drove unbuckled, a fierce look on his face as his eyes tracked the road.

A cop car pulled out into the intersection. In the second it took for the officers to turn on the siren, a pair of SUVs joined it. Men were hanging out of the windows, guns in hand. It was an easy guess that the Italians would be out looking for revenge; Castiel only hoped no one got caught in the upcoming crossfire.

Bullets ricocheted over the cop car as Dean pushed the Impala to 120 mph, muttering under his breath about bullet holes and body panels. Castiel leaned out of the open window, sighting on the Italians. He fired off a quick salvo, joined by Dean a second later.

The boss made it look easy, one hand on the wheel, the other gripping the frame before firing off a triplet of shots. Two men fell out of the SUVs, barely avoiding being crushed by the wheels.

"You know where Giacchino was talking about?" Castiel shouted over the noise of the open window, directing the question as his boss. Dean took another corner at a hair's breadth from the curb in answer. The cop car skidded, trying to keep up as sirens across the city whirred to life.

"He's got neutral ground on 76th no one's been touching. Get the grenades out." Castiel did as he was told, ducking as the back window shattered. Dean swore loudly, swerving to avoid traffic, pushing 130 mph. "Throw one."

"What?"

Dean cut him a stone-cold look. "You heard me."

Castiel swallowed, pulling the pin and ducking out of the window. He hurled it under the cop car, timing it as close as he could.

It exploded as the SUVs drove over it, blasting them into pieces. The cars careened into each other, skidding off into a building. A fiery crash split the road, but they were already two blocks away, taking yet another turn.

Dean growled, wrenching the wheel. "Tell me Gabriel has an update on those fucking plates."

Castiel looked down at his phone, jabbing at the button with a bloody finger. "They're almost at the dealership."

"Tell-shit!" Dean ducked as the cops began firing on them, yanking Castiel down with him. "Tell them to hurry the fuck up. The last thing I need is cops on my fucking tail!"

70th street careened into view. Castiel swallowed his pride and grabbed another grenade. Counting in his head, the second Dean took another corner he threw it into the bed of a parked truck. The police car braked as the vehicle exploded into the road, scattering debris everywhere.

"We probably lost the element of surprise." Dean muttered, looking skywards. The Impala slowed to a stop at an empty lot on 76th, covered overhead by a helicopter. The boss shrugged, cocking his Glock with a muttered curse. "Get ready."

Castiel jumped out of the car, grabbing and reloading his own weapon. "You see anyone?"

"Someone by the cans," Dean jerked his head, eyes narrowed. Castiel followed his gaze, nodding. "Get the zip ties out of the trunk."

* * *

Sam woke alone this time, the fever of earlier muted, but not entirely gone. He groaned, feeling pain flood his senses. The entire left side of his face throbbed, stiff and hot to the touch. Everywhere hurt, from his legs to his neck. When he moved his right arm to check his ribs, he saw the needle again.

He looked up, finding a small clear IV bag, filled with a pale, yellow liquid. Just as he was about to touch it, the door swung open, someone walking in.

"Sam. You're awake."

The dark-skinned man from earlier sat on the bed, covering Sam's hands with his. Sam tried to jerk them away, but he was weak. Something about the drugs was keeping him... _docile._ His heart began to thud wildly, and he was sure the man could feel it. "Who are you?"

"Jay." The man said softly, almost humming the syllable. "You can call me Jay. What do you remember, Sam?"

"I don't remember anything." Sam said, but a second later the man's hand shifted on his. It was suddenly so familiar, he felt dizzy. "Get...away from me. Dean…"

"Dean's on his way, don't worry." Jay said softly, smiling at Sam. His eyes really were beautiful, a dark chestnut, hiding intelligence. "He'll be here to rescue you soon."

Sam narrowed his eyes, sitting up as far as he dared. His head throbbed. "You're drugging me."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Jay tilted his head, pursing his lips in sympathy, like he was a small child. He leaned in, running a hand down Sam's chest. "To make a point. Every man has a weakness."

The second that hand hit skin Sam kicked out, catching the man in between the legs. It wasn't as hard as he could've moved without the drugs, but Jay still collapsed, gasping on the bed. "You little  _bitch_."

"Fuck you." Sam tore the needle out of his arm, shoving the man for good measure. Jay toppled off the bed, still groaning. "Dean will find me, and I hope he makes your death  _slow_."

The other man stood, apparently unnerved that he was free. He tapped a comm in his ear. "Send guards in. And don't hurt him."

Sam's eyes widened as three guards filed in through the door, trying to stand. He got his hands up, but he was weak. The first guard fought off his blows easily, jamming a needle into his neck. Sam saw Jay above him as he collapsed, everything going blurry as the man kept repeating the same three words,  _don't hurt him, don't hurt him, don't hurt him…_

* * *

Chris sat at the guard's station, an icepack on his face. The wind was wailing around the little shack, and it was probably the shittiest place Jay could've thought to stick him in. His stitches throbbed, and no amount of Vicodin and ice could calm them.

That Wesson kid had gotten him good. Whatever mob doctor Jay had gotten had taken one look and shook his head. In his own opinion, the cut didn't look  _that_ bad, but Jay didn't like it. Jay thought it was a liability. Chris grunted at the kid in the corner, startling him. "Hey."

"Yes sir?"

Chris rolled his eyes. "Get me some more goddamned ice."

"Yes sir."

The kid stood, moving towards the cooler by the window. A second later a burst of gunfire shattered the glass. Chris swore and threw himself off the chair and to the ground, screaming as the movement jostled his stitches. The kid-Jerome? Jerry?-was on the floor next to him, facedown.

"Hey, kid," Chris hissed, tapping his shoulder. "Get up."

Something wet touched his hand, and Chris recoiled. A pool of blood was spreading under the kid's leg, so he gave up. Grabbing the one piece he had, he loaded one-handed and tried to even out his breaths. Maybe it was just a drive by. It probably was.

"Anyone home?" A man yelled outside. Chris froze, one hand on his gun. It would just happen to be Dean Winchester, wouldn't it? It just fucking had to be.

A heavy thud filled the room as the door was kicked in. Chris put his hands up in surrender, groaning as a dark-haired man wrenched them behind his back, zip-tying them a moment later. The plastic ties bit into his skin as Dean Winchester walked in, a gun in hand. He looked down at Chris, a devilish smirk on his lips.

"What's your name?"

He bared his teeth. "Go fuck yourself." Bad idea, bad idea. The cut on his face began weeping blood again.

"Well, Go-fuck-yourself, we're going to go on a ride." The dark-haired man hauled him to his feet as Winchester chuckled. "You ever hear of two cats in a bag?"

Chris stumbled as he was led to the trunk of a nearby car. "You think I'm gonna talk?"

He was shoved into the small space, barely stopping himself from slamming face-first into the liner. The dark-haired man disappeared, but Winchester didn't shut the trunk.

"I really think you are."

A dead weight landed on top of him, knocking the wind out of him. Chris recognized Jerome's moaning, grimacing as he felt blood seep into his back.

"First one who talks gets to live. Have fun, kids."

Winchester snorted a laugh and slammed the trunk shut, and then they were alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Reviews are love:)


	20. 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam faces a horrifying choice. Jo finally has the twins. Dean plays two cats in a bag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long gap in posting. Glad you're all still reading + reviewing. I've been judging the Supernatural Fanfiction Monthly Awards so that's been pretty cool. Below be angst--you were warned.

_"Anyone home?" A man yelled outside. Chris froze, one hand on his gun. It would just happen to be Dean Winchester, wouldn't it? It just fucking had to be._

_A heavy thud filled the room as the door was kicked in. Chris put his hands up in surrender, groaning as a dark-haired man wrenched them behind his back, zip-tying them a moment later. The plastic ties bit into his skin as Dean Winchester walked in, a gun in hand. He looked down at Chris, a devilish smirk on his lips._

_"What's your name?"_

_He bared his teeth. "Go fuck yourself." Bad idea, bad idea. The cut on his face began weeping blood again._

_"Well, Go-fuck-yourself, we're going to go on a ride." The dark-haired man hauled him to his feet as Winchester chuckled. "You ever hear of two cats in a bag?"_

_Chris stumbled as he was led to the trunk of a nearby car. "You think I'm gonna talk?"_

_He was shoved into the small space, barely stopping himself from slamming face-first into the liner. The dark-haired man disappeared, but Winchester didn't shut the trunk._

_"I really think you are."_

_A dead weight landed on top of him, knocking the wind out of him. Chris recognized Jerome's moaning, grimacing as he felt blood seep into his back._

_"First one who talks gets to live. Have fun, kids."_

_Winchester snorted a laugh and slammed the trunk shut, and then they were alone._

* * *

Dean gunned the Impala and felt the desire to shout as it skidded across the parking lot, burning rubber in an endless donut. Castiel gripped the door tightly as the G-forces increased, blue eyes unfocused as they slid into their next turn.

"Are we done yet?"

He wrenched the wheel for good measure, hearing two distinct thumps from the trunk as they slid to a stop. Dean wasted no time turning off the engine, tossing a lukewarm water bottle to his lieutenant. "Get the trunk open and douse them."

Castiel was already moving, prying open the trunk with hurried fingers. Within, the two men were a bloody mess, a tangle of limbs and groans. Dean almost laughed as his lieutenant poured the contents of the bottle over them, the murky water splashing into his trunk, running in rivulets down to the carpeting.

Dean couldn't find it in himself to give a damn. It meant finding Sam. All he could do was get closer, and if it meant these fuckups ruined his car, so be it. "Anyone feel like talking?"

The younger soldier didn't move, and on closer inspection his leg wounds looked increasingly bad. The petulant lieutenant looked nauseous but determined. Dean zeroed in on him.

"What about you, scarface? You feel like talking?" Dean kicked the trunk, eliciting a loud bang. "No? Okay, round two…" he twirled his finger in the air, gesturing to Castiel. The younger man groaned suddenly, swollen eyes tracking the movement.

"...please…." the kid was deathly pale, close to bleeding out. The lieutenant tried to elbow him but didn't get far with the zipties. "I'll tell you...anything...please. My-my mom…."

"Shut  _up_!" the lieutenant said, wiggling to dig a knee into the kid. Dean only smiled, hefting the younger man up by the zip ties around his wrists. He shushed the man's groans, undoing the ties and letting him slump to the floor.

"You tell me where Jay and Sam are, and I'll protect your mom." Dean's voice lowered into that register that compelled even the most reluctant. "You want them to be safe, don't you? You wanna go out knowing they'll be protected…I can do that. I can."

The kid swallowed around a mouthful of blood, trembling. With one last glance at the lieutenant, he gestured for Dean to lean down.

The address was familiar, the kid's mother's name wasn't. Dean felt a pang of guilt as he committed it to memory, drawing his gun. He shot the kid point blank, knowing there was nothing they could have done. The lieutenant startled as brain matter splattered across him, shouting in horrified surprise.

"Get in," Dean said to a silent Castiel, not waiting to see if he followed his orders. He walked around towards the trunk, looking down at the lieutenant with little sympathy. The ugly, jagged wound on his face was open, weeping blood between torn stitches. "So you're the one Sam cut up."

"Fuck you." the lieutenant growled, and Dean was happily surprised by his gall. "He fucked up my face, you think I give a shit where he is or what happens to him?"

The boss smiled, knowing where this was going. "So then why didn't you tell us?"

"Reasons." The lieutenant spat a mouthful of blood into the carpet. "Fuck you. Kill me already if you don't need me. Jay sure as hell doesn't."

Dean laughed at that. "Oh, I need you, alright. You're my leverage."

He shut the trunk with a bang, shaking his head as the lieutenant began pounding on the trunk.

Castiel had one hand to his ear, holding his cellphone close when Dean jumped into the front seat. "Yes. Okay. I'll let Dean know. Put an APB out on them-no, I don't care. Call Crowley, have him use Luke.  _Yes,_ that Luke."

"They get a line on Jay's group?"

"Maybe." Castiel bared his teeth, eyes flashing to the distant road. "Drive."

Dean gunned it.

* * *

"Oh my God," Jo put a hand to her mouth, willing herself not to scream. The room seemed to be spinning. Ruby rubbed a comforting hand on her back, but she could barely feel it. "I can't feel my legs."

"Easy there, girly. Let's get you settled," the other woman blocked the TV, gesturing for Jessica to help her. Jo winced as her legs were moved onto the couch, feeling another crippling contraction roll through her. She bit her fist from the pain, unable to tear her eyes away from the screen.  _Deadly manhunt taking place on lower east side….casualties unknown at this point…_

"Stop looking at the goddamned television and  _focus_ ," Ruby grabbed her head, forcing her to look upwards. "Jo, you're about to have twins."

"I can't," Jo opened her mouth to continue, but a broken sob came out. The wrenching pain in her abdomen returned, and she cried out. The world disappeared in a haze of pain for a moment, and all she could think was  _not now, not now, please not now…_

"Get Bobby up here," she heard Ruby growl from far away, delirious with the pain. Jessica's heels tapped across the floor, hurried. A cool cloth was placed to Jo's face, the momentary relief enough to focus her. "Jo, honey, you staying with me?"

"Are Sam….is Dean okay?..." Jo moaned as the pain rolled through her again, twisting on the couch like she could escape it. "Please. They have to be here. They said they'd be here…"

Ruby's mouth was a firm line when she looked up, but before the woman could speak, Jessica's heels shattered the silence. Behind her was Bobby Singer, the kind doctor she'd seen before. A doctor…

"Jo, how are we doing?" The man wasted no time, angling in between her legs, examining her professionally. "Oh. So we're  _that_  far along."

"When I said she was about to have the babies, I meant she was  _about to fucking have the babies_." Ruby yelled at him, waving her hands. "Help her! We have to get her to a-to a hospital or something!"

"No time." Singer squinted and removed a pair of gloves from his pocket, slipping them on quickly. "Jo, how are those contractions?"

"They  _hurt_!"

"Good." Singer moved her legs apart, nodding and glancing at his watch. "Ruby, Jessica, I need you to hold her head and her hand. Deep breaths, Jo. This is going to be easy."

Jo almost kicked him as he grabbed her ankle for that comment. "How about you fucking do it then?"

"There we go. Keep talking." the doctor shined a light in her eyes, unflapped. "You're about to meet twin number one."

Ruby looked pale from her position at Jo's side. She peered down at her spread legs, hesitant. Her current expression would've made Jo laugh any other day. "You, uh, have a lot of practice delivering babies, Singer?"

"No." Singer said firmly, focused on Jo's breathing. "But I know how to."

"Knowing  _how_ to do something isn't the same as actually doing it!"

"Ruby, calm down-"

Jo felt herself panic as Ruby lunged for the doctor, only to be pulled back by Jessica at the last second. "Oh my God. This is not happening. This is not happening."

"Fraid it is." Singer made an interested noise as Jo felt something  _move_ down there, dodging a struggling Ruby. His brow furrowed. "You want an epidural? Hey, you want me to call your husband?"

"I want Dean...and Sam." Jo moaned at the pain, feeling tears prick her eyes. "Please…"

Singer glanced at the TV screen, face darkening. Cop cars were chasing a line of SUVs, explosions dotting the emergency coverage every few seconds. "I don't think they're coming home any time soon."

* * *

"Yeah, they're all black SUVs. Stolen in the last four months." Gabriel held the phone close to his ear, unsettled by the noises he heard on Castiel's end. "About twenty of them. Dealers never noticed the trend because they were cheap rentals."

"Yes. Okay. I'll let Dean know. Put an APB out on them-no, I don't care. Call Crowley, have him use Luke."

Gabriel's mouth dropped. "Luke  _Milton_?"

" _Yes,_ that Luke." Castiel hung up a second after Dean's voice sounded in the background. The two of them were going to go rescue Sam and he and Benny were going to, what? Fuck off and look for a couple of black SUVs in all of urban Chicago?

" _Fuck_!" Gabriel threw the cell phone, getting a cool look from Benny. It shattered against the brick siding. The other lieutenant took a deep breath, silently suggesting he do the same. Gabriel fixed him with a look:  _hell fucking no_

"They're off to Jay's address?"

Gabriel stepped through the broken window of the dealership, urging his feet to move faster. "Yeah. And they won't tell me where. We're supposed to call the lawyer-"

"Crowley."

"Yeah, that fucktard." Gabriel shoved into their SUV, glancing at the backseat of fully-armed guys. "Someone call Alastair Crowley and give me their fucking cell phone when you do."

Benny sighed and hopped in next to him, dialing his own cellphone with one hand. "So now what?"

"Hell if I know. You wanna let them walk in there alone?"

"Fuck no."

Gabriel thunked his head against the steering wheel, letting out a frustrated noise. "Dean still have that tracker in his car?"

Benny's lips pursed. He glanced down at his cellphone. "Let me see what I can do."

"Hey, boss," one of the soldiers in the back shifted, looking nervously out the back window. "I hear sirens."

Gabriel swore even louder and turned over the engine. "Someone get me Crowley on the phone, for christ's  _motherfucking_ sake!"

* * *

Sam woke normally this time, and the fact that he had to use the words  _this time_ made him feel nauseous. The first thing he looked for when he opened his eyes was the needle in his arm; all he found was a small bandage, the skin around it untouched.

"Sam."

He looked up, eyes wide. The man called Jay was sitting at the edge of the bed. Sam felt his eyes unfocus as he gazed into the other man's face. So maybe what they'd given him hadn't worn off completely. He shook his head, fazed. Where was Dean?

"J-Jay." Sam took a deep breath, trying to stabilize himself. He looked up at the man, who was waiting patiently. "That's what your name is...isn't it?"

"It is." The man smiled, teeth a bright white against his dark, tanned skin. "You're looking better. Happier."

Sam felt something chill inside him as he realized the exchange that had just happened was so quick, so easy. It had to be the drugs. He looked down, watching his hand ripple against the sheets. Definitely drugs. "I-I don't know what you mean. Where am I?"

"Somewhere safe. For now." Jay leaned closer, and Sam caught a whiff of his aftershave. It was close to spicy, mixing in his nose until Sam felt his head throb. "Sam. I want to tell you something."

"I want to go home." Sam said, fixing him with as square a look as he could muster. "I want Dean. Please."

"Dean doesn't want you." Jay said, and the conviction in his tone made him pause, however painfully, traitorously small a pause it was. "Sam...You have to know that."

"We're going to get married." Sam murmured, more to himself than the other man. "Soon. A couple months, he said…"

"That was before his father died, wasn't it? Before he started ignoring you." Jay leaned forward, voice silky-soft in Sam's ear. "Come on, Sam. You don't think there's something wrong with a man who locks himself alone in a room mourning a father he never even knew? Ignoring you for months? Someone who could be his equal-or better?"

"I don't care about that. It was his Dad, of course he was going to be upset…" Sam trailed off as Jay's face darkened. "I know what you're doing. Don't try to manipulate me." He looked down at his arm again, feeling the room shudder. "You're still drugging me. I can tell…"

Voices sounded outside of the small room, someone shouting something to Jay that Sam couldn't comprehend. He looked down at Sam, mouth twisting. "So your  _partner_ is on his way here sooner than I thought he'd be."

 _Dean._ "Seems like your plans aren't working out well."

"Oh, no. He's mostly on time." Jay patted Sam on the shoulder, dragging it down his chest again. His hand stopped at the raised edge of the shirt he'd dressed him in. "You know what this is, Sam?"

Sam glanced down at the shirt they'd dressed him in for the first time, the drugs in his system making it a chore in and of itself. A thick sweater was layered under a dark black vest. He looked closely, feeling his heart skip a beat as he saw wires. No.  _No._

Jay stood with a chuckle, tossing him a large overcoat. Sam caught it with numb hands. "Dean's going to arrive any second. I want you to meet him. Alone."

Sam couldn't move, caught between gazing dumbly at the vest and the coat in his hands. "How much?"

"How much what? C-4?" Jay shrugged fluidly, sliding into his earlier charm. "Enough to blow up a city block. Enough that if loverboy's close enough, he ain't walking away."

"And I won't either." Sam gripped the coat, enraged. "What are you doing? Why are you doing this to us?"

"Put the coat on." Jay ordered, stony-faced. He palmed a small piece of plastic and metal into Sam's view. "I have the detonator, no one else. I see so much as a touch from Dean and you go sky high."

Sam felt his legs tremble at the thought of Dean embracing him, only to be cut off a second later. "W-what…" He licked his lips. "What do I say?"

"That you don't love him anymore. Get him to leave.  _Hurt_ him." Jay's eyes glittered. The voices down the hall grew in volume, and the man stood to leave. "Tell him you never want to see him again. Make him leave without touching you, and I'll let him live. I'll let him live, Sam."

Sam looked up at him, then down to the coat.

_Deep breath._

* * *

Luke was plastered to the monitors, a radio in one hand and his cellphone in the other. The mayor was yelling in one ear, the police chief in the other. All around him people were scrambling for weapons, for cars, for anything. The car chase seemed almost finished, but the panic had only just started.

"No, I'm watching it. Sir-sir." Luke bit down on the curse about to escape, feeling rage boil within him. "There's nothing we can do. The suspects fled on-no, I don't have licenses. They were bombing my men, what did you want them to do, take a fucking picture?"

The precinct chief radioed in. "Milton. Any updates?"

Luke sighed, hanging up the mayor with a quick apology. "No. They disappeared. I've got squad cars at every major intersection-" he frowned as a small, well-dressed man stepped into his office. He looked familiar, but Luke didn't have time to guess names. "No, sir. Yes. Right away. But-"

The man sat down in his sole chair, tilting his head with an impatient sigh. Luke ignored him, still talking to the chief, when the man carefully laid a stack of papers on his desk. The top read  _Petition for Divorce: Luke Milton and Jo Anna Harvelle._ Luke dropped the phone.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Serving divorce papers," the man said in a polished accent, vowels curling into Luke's ears. That voice was familiar. "Can't you read?"

"Divorce papers. Fucking hell." Luke ran his hand through his hair. He directed his ire at the unflappable man. "You just gonna sit there?"

"You don't get served often, do you, Mr. Milton?" The man sighed, leaning back into the chair. "Move your squad cars to 75th and Morgan."

Luke blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Ooh, that was the politest thing you've said all day." The man leaned forward, a grin spreading across his face. "That's where your  _suspects_ are, or will be quite soon. Are you telling me you don't want to catch them? Wouldn't the poor mayor be a tad bit, well,  _disappointed_?"

Luke picked up the walkie talkie, still dubious. "...Possible lead at 75th and Morgan, three units converge."

"While you're at it, love," the man stood up, brushing his suit off. He reached into his pocket, handing him a slip of paper. "Why don't you and your men track these down?"

"Why don't you fuck off?"

The man raised an eyebrow. "Why don't I wander over to the local news station and show them all the pictures of you blowing your brother? Or that time you let him fuck you in the ass on his desk?"

"Jesus  _fuck._ What the hell kinda lawyer are you?" Luke growled. A pointed glare later and he was unfolding the paper, chills running through him. "What are these?"

"License plates and VINs. Find them. Quickly." The man smirked, moving to leave, one last glance cast towards the divorce papers on his desk. "Congrats, by the way."

Luke frowned. "On what?"

"I heard your wife-well, soon to be ex-wife-just had twins." The man winked. "Don't fuck this up. Parenthood is a big deal. Wouldn't want your kids to turn out like you did."

With that he left, leaving Luke flabbergasted.  _Twins._

* * *

Sam shivered in the winter air, not dating to draw the cost closer to him. He was standing in the middle of an empty parking lot, snow whirling around him. Jay and his people were hidden, watching closely. Sam bit back the burning feeling in his throat, steeling himself.

He heard the Impala before he saw it, the engine roaring through the winter night. Castiel was riding shotgun as Dean sped into the lot, skidding to a stop mere feet away. Sam had to quell a sob at the look on his face. Christ, he couldn't do this.

" _SAM!"_ The car wasn't even to a full stop before Dean was out and running, barreling towards him with arms outstretched. "Jesus, Sam-"

"Dean." Sam said it like a mantra. It was a neutral word. It had to be. Jay wouldn't blow them up for a name. He shied away as Dean reached for him, faking a look of disgust. "Don't."

"Sam?" Dean's face twisted, but he held his hands back. "Where is-where did he go? Are you okay? You look….sick."

He felt sick. He felt like he was reading his own heart out, only that would have hurt less. "I'm fine. I'm...better."

"Better?"

Castiel began walking towards them, warned off by Sam's quick glance. Dean's lieutenant was more perceptive than most. "Sam, what the hell are you talking about?"

Sam shrugged with a light chuckle, forcing it, praying it was enough. "You think the last few weeks have been a walk in the park for me?"

Dean face twisted with guilt. "Of course not….Sam. Please. Can't we just go home? We can talk about this all there-"

Sam almost had a heart attack as Dean's hand moved to his shoulder, dodging it with a quick step backwards. "Don't  _touch_ me."

His lover looked hurt. "Sam?"

"I don't  _want_ to go home to your stupid warehouse. I don't  _want_ to sit in my damned room alone anymore!" Sam's voice rose suddenly, making Dean flinch. "I can't take it anymore. I can't take that goddamned militaristic group you want to call an organization! It's weak! You're  _weak_! You spent months crying over John. I get it, he's your dad, but we were supposed to get  _married."_ Sam felt tears prick his eyes as Dean's lips trembled, pushing on. "We were going to be married, Dean. You said you loved me."

"I do." The words were barely a whisper, crammed past a throat swollen with emotion. Dean's eyes were beginning to redden, though he made no move to wipe away tears. "I love you so much, Sam."

Sam laughed, feeling his heart shatter as he did. "That's funny. That's real funny, Dean."

"Sam-"

He opened his mouth, praying this was enough. He couldn't do this anymore. "Leave."

The look on Dean's face was almost comical. "W-what?"

"Leave. Leave me alone. Go  _away!"_ Sam screamed at him. " _Leave me alone!_ "

Dean's face crumpled. A moment later it stiffened, a firm mask settling over his features. He turned away, profile catching the light from the street lamps. Sam almost threw up.

His lover, his partner in everything walked away and didn't look back. Sam looked down at the vest, heart pounding. Castiel started up the Impala; a second later they were gone, disappearing into the night….just like that.

Jay came up behind him a minute later, clasping his shoulder lightly. "Nice performance, Sammy. I think some of that was actually real."

Sam felt the tears burn down his face, guilt and shame fighting each other in his chest. "Y-You said you won't t-touch him."

"We'll see," the other man said, smiling beatifically. He grabbed Sam's hand. "Let's get this off of you, huh?"

Hot tears rolled down his face. He heaved, tasting bile at the back of his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Review are love:)


	21. Thieves Like Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo meets the twins for the first time; Dean gets into an extramarital affair. Sam get drugged, and Gabriel is really fucking done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Two updates in one week! Sorry for all the hearts I dragged last time. This is a little more plotty, so hopefully you enjoy.
> 
> As I said earlier, I'm currently judging for the Supernatural Fanfiction Monthly Awards over on ffnet. We need story nominations! If you're interested in judging or would like to nominate your own story or someone else's, head over to their forum. I think there's a category for pretty much everything!

**Before**

_"I do." The words were barely a whisper, crammed past a throat swollen with emotion. Dean's eyes were beginning to redden, though he made no move to wipe away tears. "I love you so much, Sam."_

_Sam laughed, feeling his heart shatter as he did. "That's funny. That's real funny, Dean."_

_"Sam-"_

_He opened his mouth, praying this was enough. He couldn't do this anymore. "Leave."_

_The look on Dean's face was almost comical. "W-what?"_

_"Leave. Leave me alone. Go away!" Sam screamed at him. "Leave me alone!"_

_Dean's face crumpled. A moment later it stiffened, a firm mask settling over his features. He turned away, profile catching the light from the street lamps. Sam almost threw up._

_His lover, his partner in everything walked away and didn't look back. Sam looked down at the vest, heart pounding. Castiel started up the Impala; a second later they were gone, disappearing into the night….just like that._

_Jay came up behind him a minute later, clasping his shoulder lightly. "Nice performance, Sammy. I think some of that was actually real."_

_Sam felt the tears burn down his face, guilt and shame fighting each other in his chest. "Y-You said you won't t-touch him."_

_"We'll see," the other man said, smiling beatifically. He grabbed Sam's hand. "Let's get this off of you, huh?"_

_Hot tears rolled down his face. He heaved, tasting bile at the back of his throat._

* * *

**Now**

Gabriel grit his teeth as Benny took a sharp right onto 75th street, tapping his knee over and over again. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon…"

A large warehouse appeared in front of them, slowly coming into focus as they sped around another corner. The lot outside was empty, cracked streetlights barely producing enough light to see by. "Well, this isn't one of the better digs in town, that's for sure."

"You recognize the place?"

Gabriel glanced at the other lieutenant, mouth downturned. "No fucking clue."

Suddenly another car turned onto the road, headlights blinding Benny. Gabriel winced and turned away, a hand up to shield his eyes. "Jesus! Someone shoot him.  _Fuck_."

"I think that's Dean," one of the men in the back said, leaning forward. Gabriel joined him, rubbing the spots out of his eyes. "Yeah, that's his car. '67. Whoa, he's going really fast-"

Gabriel grabbed the wheel from Benny, screaming at the top of his lungs. "HOLY SHIT!"

Benny barely managed to swerve off the road before the Impala careened past them. Gabriel groaned and held onto his seat rest, wishing he'd rethought the whole seat belt thing. Dean Winchester barely even stopped, speeding past them as they bounced into the ditch.

They came to a rest fairly quickly, the SUV teetering on a broken piece of gravel. The front of the car slammed into the bottom of a streetlight, bursting into a cloud of steam a second later.

Benny got out of the car as Gabriel processed this, wincing as he saw the damage. He communicated wordlessly through the windshield that this was not good.

Jumping out, Gabriel pulled his gun and walked over to the road they'd veered off. The Impala was a good hundred feet away, skid marks coloring the road for about half that distance. He put his hand up as the car accelerated back towards them, blocking the headlights. Two figures got out a moment later.

"Gabriel," Castiel looked deathly pale, rushing towards him. The lieutenant blushed as the other man embraced him, squeezing tightly. "Are you alright?"

"Where's Sam?" Gabriel directed this at Dean, motionless besides his lieutenant. He looked like death warmed over, similar to Castiel, two high spots of color on his cheeks. "Hello? Anyone?" He snapped once in Castiel's face as neither answered. " _Where is Sam_?"

"...Gone." Dean said, face expressionless. His eyes looked flat and dull under the streetlight. The facade cracked a second later, his lips twitching " _Christ._ Sam…Cas, Sam's gone..."

Gabriel averted his eyes as Dean bent his head, tears slipping down his face. Castiel looked horrified next to him, speechless. All they could do was share a look as their commander fell apart in front of them, unable to comprehend what was happening.

"That SUV ain't moving," Benny called out, awkwardly splitting the moment as he walked over. Gabriel looked at him, willing for the distraction. "Whole front's busted. We'll need to take it for the shop for sure."

The six men who had been in the backseat were standing around the perimeter, dimly lit in the streetlights. A siren started up somewhere nearby, making everyone jump a little.

"Let's get out of here," Castiel said quietly, eyes trained on Dean. The boss wasn't moving, gaze fixed on his boots and llittle else. It was eerie. "Dean?"

"Dean-O, we gotta go," Gabriel felt his pulse rachet up as red and blue flashed down the street. A pair of squad cars were definitely headed their way. "Cas,  _do_ something!"

Benny grabbed Castiel's shoulder before he could, glancing at the oncoming cars. "Wait-"

The armed soldiers trained their guns on the cars in one fluid motion, disengaging the safety on their guns. Gabriel ran his hand through his hair as the cops approached, swearing as another siren started up a few blocks away. "Shit. Now we're going to get arrested.  _Great_."

"Hands on the ground! Drop your weapons!" Luke Milton shouted, jumping out of the squad car. His gun was drawn, face contorted. " _Now_!"

Gabriel turned to Benny. "Oh, no. You gotta be fucking kidding me."

"I thought Crowley was sending him after Jay?"

"That's what I thought too!"

" _Hands on the ground_!"

Gabriel pointed his own gun at Luke, watching as a couple nervous patrolmen surrounded their boss. "You know what, Milton? No. Fuck you."

"I will arrest you," Milton threatened, blue eyes wide, edging into Gabriel's space. His little .38 special wouldn't shoot shit. "Don't try me."

"You were going to already, jackass." Gabriel said, narrowing his eyes. "What'cha doing outta bed this late? Mikey kick you out?"

Luke's mouth tightened. A second later Gabriel was on his ass, ears ringing. Blood was dripping down his face, splattering onto his shirt as he opened his mouth in indignation. "Oh my-"

Milton passed him, walking over to Dean in spite of the guns trained on him. Everyone on the block held their breath as he shined a flashlight into the boss' eyes.

"Where the  _fuck_ is my wife, Winchester?"

Dean didn't move, silent. His green eyes were unfocused, switching between his feet and the ground between them. Even Castiel backed up a few meters, nervous.

"I said," Luke shoved Dean in the chest, pushing him backwards, "Where the  _fuck_ is my wife, Winchester?" He moved to shove Dean again, arms outstretched.

All hell broke loose as Dean snapped, grabbing Luke's arm and twisting it. Milton went down screaming to his knees, a distinct cracking noise sounding as Dean shattered his wrist in one balanced motion. A second later the boss' knee slammed into his nose, paired with a hit across the jaw that sent Milton back a good three feet.

The officers began shooting on the crowd, preempting their men to return fire a second later. Both groups scattered, Gabriel diving to the ground, Benny next to him. A few feet away Castiel was trying to pull Dean off Milton, dodging bullets as he did so.

"Get Winchester!" Benny screamed at him over the gunshots. "Jesus fucking Christ, we're gonna die!"

"We're not gonna fucking  _die_ ," Gabriel shouted, aiming carefully. Castiel pulled Dean a few feet away and  _bang!_ Luci was down one kneecap. He tried not to relish Milton's screams. "Get the keys!"

Castiel was struggling with Dean so Gabriel went over to help, shooting at the skittish officers. The other lieutenant looked panicked, arms around Dean's chest as the man heaved, trying to escape his grip. "Hit him!"

"What?"

"Knock him  _out_!" Castiel groaned as Dean caught him across the face, splitting his lip in his effort to get to Luke. Milton was still on the ground, motionless. "Gabriel,  _hit him_!"

The cops weren't going away anytime soon, so Gabriel acquiesced. A moment later Dean was out cold, slumping in Castiel's arms. Quick and dirty.

"Get in the damn car!"

He grabbed Dean's legs and they followed the sound of Benny's voice. Gabriel barely felt the edge of the car as they swung into the backseat, Dean's body draped between them. "Drive, drive, drive!"

Benny hit the gas and they careened out of the empty lot, bullets whizzing into the night.

* * *

Jo cried out, the sound whispering past her throat. Everything hurt; her voice had cracked what felt like hours ago. A moment later Ruby's hands wiped across her face, blessedly cool.

"It's alright. Shh. You're almost there. You're so close, Jo."

Singer was between her legs when she opened her eyes, face narrowed in concentration. Jessica's face lit up from her spot next to him squeezing Jo's leg. "Oh, I see hair!"

Jo screamed, the cry torn from her throat as she pushed with all of her might. A second later she was joined by a high pitched cry, the sound splitting her like icewater. Oh God, Oh god…

"And it's a boy!" Singer cut the umbilical cord quickly, wrapping the baby up in sheets Jess had collected. Ruby helped him settle the baby on Jo's chest, wiping his face. "Mazel tov!"

Jo looked down at the tiny baby's face, fatigue vanishing. Little blue eyes looked up at her, innocent and afraid. He squalled again, only to be quieted by Jo's little finger. He sucked on it hungrily, falling silent. Jo almost started crying as his eyes shut peacefully, letting out a sob of relief. "Oh my God. Fuck. Fuck."

"Shhhhh," Ruby said, glancing down at the baby with mock outrage. "You can't swear in front of kids!"

Jessica rolled her eyes next to Singer, both looking relieved. "He's two minutes old, Ruby, I think he can handle it."

"You can handle it." Jo whispered to the baby, moving her other hand to caress him gently. His hair was fine and wheat-colored, just like her own had been. She was about to speak again when another contraction ripped through her, turning the sound into a groan. "Argh."

"One more. Piece of cake." Singer looked a little nervous, wiping his brow with one hand. "Breathe through 'em Jo, c'mon."

Ruby carefully took the first twin from her, Jessica taking her place as the contraction worsened. Jo cried out again and again. "I can't do this," she felt tears run down her face, burning shame filling her heart. "I can't do it again, I can't."

"You can. You can." Jessica squeezed her hand as the worst contraction hit. Singer let out a noise of encouragement, reaching between her legs. "You're almost there. One last push."

Jo pushed, screaming as loud as she could, before slumping to the bed. Another baby began screaming, breaking the silence. She felt her eyes shut, spent.

"Another boy," Singer murmured somewhere in front of her. A second later a warm weight settled on her chest. Jo opened her eyes, baffled to see another set of blue eyes gazing at her. "Well done, Jo. Well done."

Ruby placed the first brother next to him on her chest, carefully arranging their blankets. Jo smiled weakly at her, utterly grateful.

"Okay, since I know I'm going to lose the pool anyway...what are you naming them?"

Jo smiled down at her twin boys, now sleeping happily on her chest. "I can't tell you. Not yet."

John Samuel Harvelle smiled in his sleep on the left, nudging into his brother William Dean Harvelle with one pudgy fist. Jo closed her eyes and slept.

* * *

Sam sat in the back of the car, head pressed against the cool glass. All around him in the closed garage Jay's men were a flurry of movement, gathering weapons and explosives, filing into expensive-looking SUVs.

"Sam?" Jay's hand slid across his thigh, squeezing once. He didn't look up, caught in a haze. "Sam, you with me?"

The vest around his chest was utterly constricting, squeezing him breathless. All he could see was Dean's face crumpling over and over again in his mind. Hurting someone was something Sam was familiar with- _shattering_ someone, watching their very soul crack-that was horribly alien to him.

"Sam," Jay's grip became punishing, digging into his flesh. "Look at me."

He looked up, smiling lopsided. They'd given him something again...it made him complacent. Distantly happy.

"Of course. Sorry, Jay."

"That's better. How are you feeling?" Jay leaned against him, looking like he was ready to light a cigar and watch the proceedings, revelling in it. "I hope talking to Dean didn't mess you up too much."

"I guess I'm just wondering what we're doing next." Sam glanced down at the vest, schooling his face. "I don't like the vest, Jay. Can I take it off?"

Jay raised an eyebrow. "Ask me again."

"Please."

"Hmmm," the other man tilted his head, considering him. "Kiss me, and I'll deactivate it."

Sam felt his body twitch, hoping Jay didn't feel the movement. "I-I….okay." He leaned up, pressing his lips against the other man's, trying not to recoil in disgust. The boss kissed him hungrily, biting at one of his lips. Sam leaned back, feeling the skin tear. Blood ran down his chin a moment later, but Sam could hardly feel it. The drugs made him feel...distant. Distant from the injury, distant from everything.

"Good?"

The boss' eyes were all pupil, examining him. "I'll turn it off until we get downtown."

Jay carefully removed the detonator from his pocket, flipping it off. Sam felt a tremor go through him, trying to remain calm. "What's downtown?"

"Dean." He said simply, gesturing at one of his men. "Time to round up. Send off the SUVs."

"That's…." Sam said, eyes downturned, as coy as he could get. God, but it hurt. "Why the SUVs, though?"

Jay looked down at him, excited. "You really wanna know?"

"Yeah."

"They're bombs." The boss shrugged as one of the lieutenants got in, turning on the SUV. "Driving to different places in town, each one full of C-4? Yeah, your ex'll have a hard time tracking them down, that's for sure."

Sam blinked. "What makes you so certain he's gonna go after them?"

Jay put his arm around Sam, digging into his ribs. "Because, Sammy. Because bad men do bad things, but guys like him? Little yuppies in the middle? They always save the day. They have to."

The SUV exited the garage as Sam's stomach churned. He looked away from Jay, eyes skittering across the familiar streets as they turned onto Haulle. He needed to get a message to Castiel, or someone. People were going to die. So many people….

Jay's hand curled in his hair, possessive. Sam shuddered once, playing up the movement. "Jay…"

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

"i don't feel so good," Sam leaned over, hovering over his knees. "That stuff you gave me...Please, stop the car, I'm not trying to escape, I swear…"

"Of course. You wouldn't do that." Jay signalled to his driver, pulling over to the side of the road. "Take care of him."

He'd been planning on Jay, but this was even easier. Sam bent over the grass, heaving. Most of the nausea wasn't faked. The driver came near him, standing a few feet away.

"Are you okay, sir?"

Sam trembled and fell to his knees, hands outstretched. "Please...help me…"

"Up you go," the driver said impatiently, grabbing his arms and pulling. His coat flapped open, revealing a phone in a slim case tucked into the pocket. Sam stumbled into him, grazing the man's crotch. "Hey."

"Sorry," Sam slid his hand deliberately up his thigh, watching the man's eyes cross as his other hand dipped into the pocket. Blocked by the coat, Sam quickly pocketed it and stood. "Thank you."

"Just-just get in the car." The driver shook his head, walking away. Sam slid back into the seat, curling into Jay's shoulder.

"Feeling better?"

Sam blinked, innocent. "I'm so sorry about that...I don't mean to d-disappoint you, Jay."

Jay barked a laugh. "Save those nerves for later, Sammy."

"What's later?"

"Sam..." Jay trailed off, teasing him. He grabbed his face in his hands, tone honey-sweet. "You're breaking into the vault."

"The vault." Sam repeated dumbly. "Dean's vault?"

"That's the one. I'm hoping you know the code." Jay said. The driver took off, the convoy behind them returning in seamless formation. The threat hung in the air:  _don't disappoint me._

"I can-Yes. Yes, I know it."

"Good," Jay said, stroking his shoulder, inches away from where he'd hidden the stolen cellphone. "Good, Sam."

* * *

_Incoming Message: From (Unknown Sender):_

_to:_

_Castiel N. (312-885-9465)_

_11:08:37 PM CST_

_suvs are bombs. jay on his way to warehouse._

* * *

It took both Castiel and Benny to haul Dean into the warehouse, carrying him to the nearest couch before they got to work. Gabriel put his own nose back into place with an abundance of cursing as they started attending to battle stations.

Benny was first into the infirmary downstairs, stopped by a pale-looking Ruby. He paused, assuming the worst. "Jo?"

"Sleeping." Ruby whispered, grabbing his arm. She led him out of the room, walking towards the stairs. "What the hell happened?"

"Dean's out cold upstairs," Benny said, following her numbly. Gone was the earlier furor of weapons collection and cars. Now the warehouse was mostly empty, eerily silent. "Sam told him to leave."

"Sam got out?"

"No one knows. Story is, he screamed at Dean, told him he didn't wanna be rescued. Told him he couldn't take it here anymore."

Ruby squeezed his arm, steadying herself. "Jesus. I can't even start to guess what he's feeling like. And Sam just disappeared?"

"Castiel didn't say." Benny put a hand to his face, finally pausing. "I can't do this. Jesus, I almost died tonight. Luke showed up…"

"Luke  _Milton_?"

The lieutenant put his head in his hands. "Is there another Luke everyone hates?"

"Well, what happened?"

"He broke Gabriel's nose, then Dean broke his wrist. He got shot too." Benny shook his head, a reluctant grin on his face. "I hope it hit his dick. Man.  _Pulp Fiction_ style."

Ruby shoved him away, looking disgusted. "Let's go upstairs, Mr. Sadism. What are we supposed to be doing right now?"

"I don't even know."

"Benny!" Gabriel was shouting when they entered the first floor. "Get your ass over here!"

"Apparently that." Benny shrugged at Ruby. "Tell Jo I said congrats when she wakes up."

"I will."

Castiel and Gabriel were huddled when Benny approached. Both looked pale. A cellphone was passed between them. "What's up?"

"I just received a text message," Castiel said quietly, glancing at Dean's unconscious form. He paused. "Look for yourself."

Benny glanced at the phone, feeling the blood leave his face. Both lieutenants were grim when he looked up. "Oh my god. How many did we say were missing again?"

"Eleven." Gabriel said, voice catching. "Maybe more."

"Get everyone we have back here," Castiel ordered immediately. "We don't know how long we have until they attack."

"But do you-do you think  _Sam_ sent that?"

Castiel's eyes were steady. "When he and Dean were arguing, he looked...reluctant. Imposed."

"You're saying Jay set him up."

"If he knew Jay had bombs, maybe he went along with it." Castiel unholstered his own weapon, glancing at Benny. "Get Jo, the twins and the doctor to a safe place and barricade it."

"What about you guys?"

Castiel and Gabriel shared a look. The older lieutenant tilted his head, giving a soft smile to his lover. "Do you want to wake up Dean, or should I?"

Gabriel smiled crookedly.

"Be my guest."

* * *

Sam slipped between Jay and his guards, standing at the edge of Dean's land. Across the parking lot sat their warehouse, the lights off, curtains shut. All he could hope was that Castiel had seen his message. The gun he'd been given sat in his hand, the metal of it burning his palm. He was supposed to use it.

That Jay had entrusted it to him without pause was odd enough; that it was loaded was even more surprising. Sam flicked off the safety. Flicked it on.

"Ready?"

Sam smiled at the other man, shrugging. "Guess so."

"You know the plan. In to the safe while we're taking out the underlings." Jay said, flicking the safety off of his own weapon. "Then we can meet up in his back rooms, huh? Try out that bed…"

Sam felt pure disgust roil through him at the thought of the man defiling their bed, grinning along with it anyway. "And Dean?"

"Oh, I knew you were gonna ask about that." Jay chuckled, patting his shoulder. "Get that vault open babe, and we'll see."

He steeled himself as the men filed towards the other entrance, palming his gun. Jay signalled him with one hand, the other holding the detonator. Everything was clear: Don't mess this up.

Gunshots sounded in the distance, but the back stairs were silent. Sam dodged the camera he knew was there and stepped into the foyer. Voices sounded from the basement, calling to him.

"-don't want to move them, they're barely three hours old!" Jo was shouting, making him crack a smile. So she'd had them after all. He unconsciously moved towards her voice, dipping down the stairs. Benny's voice cut in a moment later, the two arguing. It felt so familiar…He drew his gun, aiming for the lieutenant's head.

"Sam." Benny looked shell-shocked as he spotted him, hand moving towards his own gun. He pushed someone back into the infirmary. "What are you-"

"Gun. On the floor, now." Sam sighted down his own weapon, face a mask. "Two fingers. Slide it over to me."

Benny paled, face tightening. "Sam…"

"Now."

The lieutenant did as he was told, Sam picked up the semi-automatic, sliding it into his pocket. He drew closer to the other man, hating what he was about to do.

"Sam, I know you're-" Sam flipped the gun and slammed it across the lieutenant's temple, knocking him out. Benny crumpled to the floor gracelessly, unconscious. He stepped over him into the infirmary.

Jo sat on the bed, two bundles wrapped securely in her arms. She had a lone syringe as a weapon, wedged in between her fingers.

Sam stopped as he saw the babies, floored.

"...h-hey, Sam." Jo said nervously as he walked towards the bed. She didn't move as he inspected them, tears welling up in her eyes. "...Are you." she swallowed. "Are you here to k-kill me?"

Sam glanced down at his vest, the only thing that could hurt her. "No. Of course not."

"Their names-"

He cut her off with a sad smile. "I don't want to know."

"Sam-"

He looked down at the two little boys, fondness coloring his smile. "I know. Tell Dean I love him."

" _Sam-_ "

He turned to leave, walking towards the door, throat burning. "Goodbye, Jo."

" _Sam_!"

* * *

Dean startled awake, hand immediately going to his side. It hit the side of the couch in his office, reaching for someone who wasn't there. His heart clenched as he realized that person was never going to be there again. Sam. Oh God…

His hands were caked in blood, though none of it was his own. He pushed up off of the couch, groaning as his ribs protested. What was the point? He sat there thinking it over again. What was the. Fucking. Point?

Gunshots sounded to the west and he immediately leapt up, looking for his gun. A small magnum sat in his desk drawer so he grabbed it, checking the cartridge quickly. Castiel and Gabriel were shouting downstairs, but his ear caught movement to his right. Slipping into his private rooms, Dean slid against the corner, absolutely silent.

A dark figure was crouched over his safe, hands twisting the knob quickly, back and forth and back and forth. Dean stepped into the room, leveling his gun at the intruder.

"Get the fuck out of my safe."

The figure paused, hands stalling. Dean flicked the lights on with one hand, sighting with the other. The man put his hands up, turning around slowly. Expecting Jay to be sitting their greedily, Dean prepared to shoot.

A second later a familiar face was staring at him.

"Hey Dean," Sam said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Reviews are love:)


	22. See These Eyes So Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean meet again. The city braces for impact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Here's the next chapter! This is a little shorter because I'm planning on splitting it for tomorrow. Thanks to everyone who's been reading, and happy holidays!

**Before**

_Dean startled awake, hand immediately going to his side. It hit the side of the couch in his office, reaching for someone who wasn't there. His heart clenched as he realized that person was never going to be there again. Sam. Oh God…_

_His hands were caked in blood, though none of it was his own. He pushed up off of the couch, groaning as his ribs protested. What was the point? He sat there thinking it over again. What was the. Fucking. Point?_

_Gunshots sounded to the west and he immediately leapt up, looking for his gun. A small magnum sat in his desk drawer so he grabbed it, checking the cartridge quickly. Castiel and Gabriel were shouting downstairs, but his ear caught movement to his right. Slipping into his private rooms, Dean slid against the corner, absolutely silent._

_A dark figure was crouched over his safe, hands twisting the knob quickly, back and forth and back and forth. Dean stepped into the room, leveling his gun at the intruder._

_"Get the fuck out of my safe."_

_The figure paused, hands stalling. Dean flicked the lights on with one hand, sighting with the other. The man put his hands up, turning around slowly. Expecting Jay to be sitting their greedily, Dean prepared to shoot._

_A second later a familiar face was staring at him._

_"Hey Dean," Sam said._

* * *

**Now**

Sam's smile faltered as Dean remained steady in the doorway, gun in hand. His fingers were still deft on the knob of the safe, only a few digits away from opening it.

"What are you doing here?"

His former partner blinked once, face paling noticeably as the sound of gunshots echoed down the hall. The other man's eyes were blown wide, pupils covering all but a ring of hazel. "What I have to."

"Get out."

Sam ignored his outburst, hands stalling on the safe as a soft  _click_ sounded. "There we are. Thank God." He opened it with trembling hands, but didn't reach in. Dean watched as the other man slowly sat down, tumbling to the floor as his wrists gave out.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Something." Sam said, slurring the word slightly. He didn't look up at Dean, eyes skittering away. He frowned. "I would look behind you."

A sharp blow caught Dean across the face before he could turn around completely, making his ears ring. A chiding sound filled the room as Dean fell to the floor, dazed. " _Sam._ That wasn't nice."

Dean gritted his teeth as Jay entered his rooms, standing and levelling his gun at the other man. "Stop right fucking there."

"Me?" Jay put his hand to his heart, incredulous. Behind him, the warehouse had gone silent. "Is that how Dean always treats guests, Sam?"

Sam was slumped against the safe. eyes glazed over, chest heaving. Dean felt some of his anger morph into concern, still twinged with betrayal. What had Jay done with him?  _To_ him? "J-Jay."

The man smiled. "I'm here, Sam."

"I want it...off." Sam rubbed a hand across his face, his fingers shaky. His voice turned into a low whine, like he was drunk. He gripped his head, shaking back and forth. "Jaaaaaaaaayyy…"

"What the hell did you do to him?" Dean growled. taking a step forward despite himself. It was for Sam's sake that he didn't just blow away the bastard then and there. When Jay moved to raise his hands again he pressed forward. "Do I need to remind you how guns work?"

"Go ahead." Jay said cooly, barely blinking at the gun in his face. "Shoot me."

Dean grinned and pulled the trigger, only to receive a dull, clicking sound. Jay burst into laughter a second later, doubling over.

"Forget to load your gun, Winchester?" the other man straightened, still chuckling. "Actually, I had Sammy-boy over here take care of it. Isn't that right, Sam?"

Sam moaned, head pressed against the cool metal of the safe. "I..know where he'keeps it…."

"Like I said. Fabulous little toy, isn't he?" Jay walked closer to Dean, who threw away the empty gun with a snarl. "Wanna move out of my way, Winchester?"

"No." Dean straightened, putting his back to Sam. He didn't want to think about what the other man would do, but he didn't seem to be moving particularly quickly. "You wanna get to that safe? You go through me."

_And Sam_ his mind added helpfully, a painful twinge reminding him that the love of his life was  _with_ this man, probably all hopped up on coke or something. And Dean would still protect him, betrayal or not.

"Ohh…" Jay rolled up his sleeves carefully, folding the white fabric above his elbows. "A little  _mano a mano_. I can dig that."

Dean wasted no time throwing a punch, watching it glance off the other man's cheek with a feeling of satisfaction. Jay fought back, trying to land a couple blows, missing twice. The third time Dean stepped back with a grunt, leaning over.

"Nice, Dean. No, keep going. Don't stop on my account."

He growled and got back up, swinging hard and catching the other man in the same spot, knocking the wind out of him. Jay wasn't much bigger than he was, but he was more built, and he used that weight against him. A second later Dean was on the ground, wrestling and trying in vain to stay on top.

"I think this goes to show something," Jay said, eerily calm as he started to choke Dean with both hands, straddling his knees. "The great Dean Winchester-"

A deafening shot sounded, Jay slumping over his chest a moment later. Dean grimaced as hot blood poured onto him, heaving and rolling the other man's body off of him. Above was Sam, slumped against the safe, a small gun in his hand.

He smiled weakly at Dean, face utterly pale. "...I h-hate long...speeches…."

Dean looked across the room at Jay's body, wincing as he saw what was left of the other man's head. "He gave you a loaded gun?"

Sam shook his head. "Blanks….think I wouldn't...notice….but your bullets…." he mumbled something, "your bullets worked fine. S'why I took 'em outta y'gun…"

"What's wrong with you?" Dean walked over cautiously, nervous of the gun still in Sam's hand. "Sam, what the hell is going on?"

Sam waved at the safe, eyes fluttering closed. "He wanted your stuff. Now he's...dead…." His face screwed up into a frown. "Dean?...Can I come home now?"

Dean felt something crack inside of him as he saw Sam's eyes redden, throat burning. "You can, Sammy. Just-just tell me what happened. What's wrong with you. Can you tell me that?"

Across the complex he heard Castiel shouting orders, a welcome sound. Sam barely even noticed, dropping the gun, safety still off. Dean winced as he watched it bounce across the floor. "Jay gave me stuff….y'know, to be more  _docile_ and...such."

That explained the whiny voice. Dean smiled fondly, covering it up before Sam could see it. "Why did you go with him?"

"He  _took_ me." Sam said indignantly, looking up at Dean. Something must have crossed his mind, because his eyes widened. "Dean, the SUVs. Oh God. You gotta stop them."

"What S-" Dean was cut off as Castiel ran into the room, gun out, chest heaving. Blood was splattered across his chest, though it didn't seem to be his. "What happened?"

"Jay's forces are down. I don't think there are more than three left. They've taken shelter behind a garbage can out back." Castiel had to catch his breath. "Gabriel's been shot. The arm. Not life-threatening. I wanted to check on you before I took him downstairs."

"Jay's dead." Dean said, standing. He was about to mention what Sam had said when the man in question slumped over, eyes fluttering shut. "Shit. Shit!"

"Do you know why Jay had him here?"

Dean watched as Sam's eyes rolled back into his head, flashing back to the time Gordon had drugged him in their nightclub, what felt like a thousand years ago. "He said something about-SUVs, or something. Tell me you know what the  _fuck_ that means!"

Castiel helped him lay Sam down evenly across the floor, checking his breathing. "I got a text from Jay's phone earlier while you were out. He said the SUVs were some sort of bomb."

"All fucking twenty of them?

His lieutenant nodded, placing a hand on Sam's chest. He paused, frowning. "I knew it."

Dean's heart almost stopped. "What?"

"Open his shirt.  _Carefully_."

He did as he was told, stomach dropping as the black fabric revealed a mess of wires and velcro strapped to Sam's chest. Beside him, Castiel hissed. swearing softly in Russian. " _Fuck_ me."

"Those SUVs are probably all over the city by now." Castiel said, face pale. He looked down at Sam. "Sam was probably a bargaining chip, in case Jay didn't make it out."

"Bombs all over Chicago.  _Moving_ bombs." Dean ran his hands through his hair, heart beating a thousand miles a minute. "We can't track them down-school opens in a few hours! Damn it, Cas, there are  _kids_ out there!"

"And Sam is vulnerable too." Castiel shook his head. "When you had that confrontation with Sam, he looked distressed. You didn't see it, but this confirms my suspicions. Jay was controlling him, if it gives you peace of mind. He probably didn't want to hurt you, Dean."

"That doesn't fucking help  _Sam._ " Dean growled, "What the hell is wrong with him, anyway?"

"Some sort of drug." Castiel said, voice trembling ever so slightly. "We can't treat him until we know which one, and definitely not while that vest is on."

"And we can't take it off." Dean covered his face with his hands. "Would it have  _killed_ that motherfucker to put a goddamned  _timer_ on it?"

"I'll get Benny up here, have him look after Sam." Castiel said hurriedly, standing. "You and I need to figure out a plan.  _Quickly._ "

Dean nodded, still gazing down at Sam. He pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, utterly awestruck. Sam had been so strong, and all Dean could do was shout-couldn't see that he was being forced, that he had been drugged without a choice. He kissed Sam again, then again on the forehead, feeling his eyes burn.

"Dean."

He let go of Sam's head gently, standing. With one last look he followed his lieutenant out the door.

* * *

"Benny."

A woman's voice repeated his name, but all the lieutenant could do was groan. He rolled over, trying to escape the blinding light as someone tried to pry his eyes open. "Nnno-"

A splash of cold water sent him straight into consciousness. He spluttered, finding Jo above him, a hand to her lips. "Benny."

" _What_?"

Jo glared at him. "Either get up or give me your fucking gun. Your ass is on it and I'm not strong enough to roll you over."

Benny attempted to stand, only to fall on his ass as stars exploded across his vision. His head throbbed painfully, blood rushing to his brain. "Uh…"

"Sam probably gave you a concussion when he knocked you out." Jo said, having used his brief second off his ass to retrieve his gun. She looked over the sights, still dressed in a hospital gown. "I'm going to barricade the door. I don't think the fighting is over yet-"

The door slammed open and Jo shrieked, shooting into the wall. The twins startled awake and immediately began crying as Castiel carried Gabriel into the infirmary, covered in blood.

"What the hell?"

"I don't have much time," Castiel placed Gabriel onto one of the empty beds. "Singer has been called. We have a situation but the warehouse is safe. Make sure he doesn't bleed out."

Gabriel raised his middle finger, getting a quick smile from his lover before he hurried out the door. Jo looked down at Benny on the floor, then to her crying children, and sighed.

"Through and through?"

Gabriel winced as she prodded his shoulder. "Yeah. Ricochet."

"Eh, that's not so bad." Jo put pressure on it and wrapped it tightly with some nearby bandages. "Want some morphine?"

"That's a fucking redundant question," Gabriel hissed, frowning as she attempted to put an IV in. "What the hell are you  _doing_ to me?"

"Trying to give you  _morphine,_ idiot. Unlike some people here, morphine isn't really  _meant_ to be directly injected. You need an IV." Jo finally got the needle in, adjusting the fluid bag. She grabbed the needle. "Alright. Candy land in three, two, one…"

Gabriel visibly relaxed as the morphine entered his system, relaxing against the pillows. Jo finally noticed the twins' cries, walking over to them quickly, passing the other lieutenant still on the floor. "Benny, you alright?"

"Hunh."

"The fuck happened to him?" Gabriel asked the ceiling, not bothering to glance down at the other man.

"Sam hit him." Jo said, juggling both of the babies, trying to get them to relax. Gabriel glanced over, waggling his eyebrows.

"Here, give one to me."

Jo raised an eyebrow. "You're covered in blood, and Benny can't stand without falling over. You really think I'm gonna give you a newborn baby?"

Gabriel sighed, letting his good hand drop. "Worth a shot."

Benny moaned from his position on the floor, rolling over to his side. "What's going on upstairs?"

"Jay's dead and so are his men." Gabriel said. "I got shot by one of those yahoos trying to barricade themselves in the West parking lot. Dean and Cas are worried about something, though. Cas wouldn't tell me, but he looked like he was about to shit himself."

Singer chose that moment to enter the room, pausing at the scene they'd presented. "Do I really want to know?"

Gabriel shook his head. "Come over here and operate on me, doctor-man. I got a bullet in my arm, I go first."

"Polite patients go first." Singer grumbled, but he walked over to the man's bed. His foot hit Benny, who moaned loudly.

"The fuck?" Singer asked, the look on his face priceless. "Why you on the floor, son?"

Gabriel smirked. "You're the one who kicked him."

"You keep that up, I ain't taking no bullet outta your arm at all." Singer pointed at him, eyes narrowing. He glanced at Jo. "How are things holding up?"

"Hey!" Gabriel cried from across the room. " _Bleeding_ over here!"

Jo put her head in her hands. "Please shut him up."

"Gladly." Singer injected another needle into the IV bag after a second, Gabriel frowning suspiciously. He glanced across the messy room, confused. "What happened upstairs, anyway? You guys have a party or something?"

Jo sighed. "You don't watch the news often, do you?"

* * *

Crowley frowned as his phone rang, interrupting his breakfast. He glanced down at the screen and smiled around his lox and cream cheese bagel, accepting the call.

"Angel. How nice of you to call."

"I need thirty of your best snipers from any organization," Castiel said bluntly, voice hurried. "We'll pay whatever fees. There are twenty bombs travelling around the city and we need them taken out. I can give you license plates and some traffic cam footage but not much else."

"Twenty?" Crowley said, glancing out of the window. "They're travelling in cars, I take it?"

" _Yes._ You're wasting time. We don't know when they'll go off. I'm sending you the plates now, but I need the families to get together on this.  _Now_."

Crowley actually took the phone away from his face, examining it. "...Fine. I don't like your tone, but I'll get it done. Don't know if you'll get thirty, but you'll be close."

Castiel hung up abruptly, ending the conversation. Crowley immediately dialled another number. "Pamela, dear? Oh, hope I didn't wake you. No, no. Of course. Listen, I have a large job, need some help organizing. See, that's the tricky part…"

* * *

Dean exited the warehouse just as the last three loyalists were taken out with a well-thrown grenade. Castiel winced as the garbage cans exploded to their right, keeping Dean out of range as they ran towards the Impala. It was riddled with shrapnel and bullet holes, but the windows were intact. Dean felt something roll in his stomach as he looked at the damage, placing a hand on the hood absentmindedly.  _Baby..._

" _Hey_!"

Dean frowned as he heard the shout, the metal vibrating under his hand. He turned to Castiel. "Did you hear that?"

The voice shouted again, the Impala vibrating under Dean's palm. With a swear he realized what it was, moving towards the back and grabbing his keys. A second later the trunk was open, revealing the angry lieutenant, still tied up, covered in blood.

"Shit. We forgot about the second in command." Dean put a hand to his face, feeling the impulsive urge to giggle. "You think he knows about the SUVs?"

Castiel slapped the man across the face in reply, getting a sharp scream in return. "Well?"

The lieutenant was a mess as he looked up at them, the stitches across his face torn and ripped, covered in congealed blood. "Of course I fucking do."

Dean didn't even bother getting out his gun. "Talk. Or I'll shut you up again, and this time we won't remember you're still in the trunk."

"He's got the SUVs going to high-capacity areas. Schools and train stations and shit." The lieutenant said quickly, watching Dean's hold on the trunk with worried eyes. "They're supposed to blow 'em up around seven, seven thirty. I don't know the exact time, nobody was supposed to know."

"And the bomb he put on Sam?"

The lieutenant shook his head. "Different kind. The detonator's with Jay, only way to blow it up. The SUV's are all on the same network, though."

Castiel glared at him, "You know where the SUVs will be?"

"Most of them. I know he's hitting most of the red line and that one bank up on thirty seventh. Some schools." Castiel calmly took down the list in his phone, Dean shaking his head the entire time.

"That's fucked up."

The lieutenant shrugged when he finished. "You think I didn't tell him that shit?"

"You could've  _stopped_ him."

"Well, I'm starting now." The man cocked his head, trying to see out of the car. "You're running low on time. Sun's about to rise."

"We have about an hour." Castiel said to Dean, eyes worried. "I called Crowley; he has snipers ready, but if the cars aren't self detonated, we have to move them somewhere fast."

Dean thought about this for a long second, glancing at the lieutenant. "What kind of bombs are they?"

"C-4, I think." The man said, frowning. The motion made the dried blood flake off his face, a somewhat gruesome sight. "Couple hundred pounds in each. Why?"

"Bullets don't detonate C-4," Dean said simply. He tapped Castiel on the shoulder. "Time to go. Call Crowley and get him up to date." He moved to close the trunk, stopped by a scream from the lieutenant.

"Wait! Please, don't leave me in here!"

Dean kicked him, watching as the lieutenant fell out of the trunk and onto the hard concrete, still in the zip ties. "This is all your fucking fault. See if anyone helps you up."

He got into the front seat and floored it.

* * *

Sam woke up, groggy and alone on the floor of his and Dean's bedroom. Jay's body was still next to him, blood leaking slowly from what used to be his head. He put a hand out to steady himself, happy to see some of the drugs had worn off. After a moment of thinking he stood, shaking only a little.

"Dean?" No one answered him. The warehouse was utterly silent. With a shake of his head he walked over to Jay's body, feeling down his pockets. He removed the slim detonator ever so carefully, desperate not to touch the buttons. Which button had Jay pushed? He couldn't remember.

He couldn't guess and check, that was for sure, but getting it wrong inside of the building would be unforgivable. He grabbed the detonator and stumbled towards the stairs, eager to get outside.

No one stopped him as he walked out the back doors, the morning sun greeting him over the horizon. He made his way to the center of the parking lot, as far away as he could get from any building. Only the river was nearby, and no one was out on it. There was no traffic around him, no pedestrians out this early; it was the perfect time to fuck up.

Sam glanced down at the detonator, thinking about Dean. Hopefully the other man wouldn't be too distraught if he screwed this up. He raised his thumb over the larger silver button, counting down in his head.

"I wouldn't push that one if I were you."

He startled at the noise, finding a slumped form off to his left a few meters. It took a few seconds to recognize the man, but Sam remembered him well. "You're that lieutenant I cut."

"Thanks for that." the lieutenant grumbled. His hands were tied behind his back and he was covered in blood, and for the life of him Sam couldn't figure out why he was here. "You want the smaller one. Black, second from the bottom."

"Why am I supposed to trust you?" Sam peered at him, questioning. "What are you even doing here?"

The lieutenant rolled his eyes. "If you blow yourself up, you think I'm just gonna be able to roll my blessed ass out of the way? Get your shit together. Disarm the damn vest already. We got shit to do."

Sam glanced at him, taking a deep breath, and hit the button. The blinking lights on his vest faded, and a quick chirp told him it'd been disarmed. With shaky hands he undid the velcro straps and stepped out of the vest, holding it in his hands, at a loss.

"Throw it in the river," the lieutenant suggested dryly. Sam did as he said, watching it sink to the riverbed a few dozen feet down. A thought came to him, and he armed the vest again. He hit the silver button once and was almost knocked off his feet from the ensuing blast.

" _Shit_ ," the lieutenant swore, actually trying to roll away from Sam as water rained down. "You're one crazy sonuvabitch. The water woulda destroyed the detonator in a few seconds, dumbass."

Sam ignored the comments, peering down at him. "You see where Dean went?"

"Mr. Handsome and Angsty? Yeah, I seen where he went." the lieutenant licked his lips. "Why?"

"Wanna get out of those zip ties?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Sorry for the shorter chapter. We just finished exams, so I'm glad this even got out at all. Reviews are love:)


	23. People On The Highline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean reunite in time to confront the bombs Jay has left all over Chicago. It involves a lot of bullets and explosions, which Chicago has come to expect from the Winchester-Wesson organization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Sorry this is late! Who knew my 4,000 word paper was due on Friday? Anyway, here's almost 5k worth of angst, so please enjoy! Also, happy holidays! :)

**Before**

_Sam glanced down at the detonator, thinking about Dean. Hopefully the other man wouldn't be too distraught if he screwed this up. He raised his thumb over the larger silver button, counting down in his head._

_"I wouldn't push that one if I were you."_

_He startled at the noise, finding a slumped form off to his left a few meters. It took a few seconds to recognize the man, but Sam remembered him well. "You're that lieutenant I cut."_

_"Thanks for that." the lieutenant grumbled. His hands were tied behind his back and he was covered in blood, and for the life of him Sam couldn't figure out why he was here. "You want the smaller one. Black, second from the bottom."_

_"Why am I supposed to trust you?" Sam peered at him, questioning. "What are you even doing here?"_

_The lieutenant rolled his eyes. "If you blow yourself up, you think I'm just gonna be able to roll my blessed ass out of the way? Get your shit together. Disarm the damn vest already. We got shit to do."_

_Sam glanced at him, taking a deep breath, and hit the button. The blinking lights on his vest faded, and a quick chirp told him it'd been disarmed. With shaky hands he undid the velcro straps and stepped out of the vest, holding it in his hands, at a loss._

_"Throw it in the river," the lieutenant suggested dryly. Sam did as he said, watching it sink to the riverbed a few dozen feet down. A thought came to him, and he armed the vest again. He hit the silver button once and was almost knocked off his feet from the ensuing blast._

_"Shit," the lieutenant swore, actually trying to roll away from Sam as water rained down. "You're one crazy sonuvabitch. The water woulda destroyed the detonator in a few seconds, dumbass."_

_Sam ignored the comments, peering down at him. "You see where Dean went?"_

_"Mr. Handsome and Angsty? Yeah, I seen where he went." the lieutenant licked his lips. "Why?"_

_"Wanna get out of those zip ties?"_

* * *

**Now**

Sam had one hand on the wheel, the other clenched around his phone. The truck he'd borrowed from Dean's basement didn't take corners all that well, but it wasn't like he could slow down. Jay's second in command was oddly silent in the passenger seat next to him, pale as they swung around the boulevard onto sixty-seventh.

"You said they're organizing downtown?" Sam asked, managing to hit speed dial one with his thumb and celebrating internally. His hand-eye coordination was still fucked from all the drugs, so small victories counted. The lieutenant nodded, not opening his mouth. "Tell me the first target they're gonna cover."

"School," the lieutenant said between his teeth, like he was afraid to open his lips. With the open stitches on his face, Sam didn't blame him. "I saw his face when I told him. I think he'll start there. Over on Cherry and seventh street."

"Great." The phone rang in his ear as Sam cut off a red light, sailing through the intersection at close to 100 miles an hour. Angry honks trailed after him, but all he could hear was the phone in his ear. Something clicked and the dial tone disappeared. "Dean?"

"Sam," Castiel's voice was welcome in his ear, though hurried. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, I got the vest off," Sam said quickly, "Put Dean on. I've got a solution to the SUV issue, but I need to talk to him."

"He's-he's currently driving very quickly-"

Sam huffed a laugh despite himself. "Hand him the phone, Cas. If I can do it, so can he."

"You're _driving-_ "

" _Sam?"_

"Dean." Everything slowed as he heard that voice. His foot slid off the accelerator a little bit. Everything faded into unfocused blurs around him. "I'm...sorry."

He could hear the squeal of tires in the background and waited for Dean to berate him for wasting his time. For betraying him. Instead, the other man laughed softly, just a brush of air across the line. "It's okay, Sammy. Everything's going to be okay."

"I love you," Sam said stupidly, getting a strange look from the lieutenant and swerving around a hotdog cart at the same time. "I love you so much, you idiot. I know how to stop the SUVs, too."

"I love you too," Dean said, cursing as the wheels squealed again. "God, I hate rush hour traffic. What's the plan?"

"What's the-the plan," Sam said, surprised. "You're not mad at me?"

"I could never be mad at you. I fucking hate being mad." Dean cut off, yelling at some pedestrian as if to prove his point. "I was mad at myself, Sam. I thought I'd done some shit. I don't think I _can_ hate you."

"Dean…."

"Now that I got that girly shit off my chest, what's the _plan,_ Sam?"

Sam smiled against the phone. "I'm five minutes behind you. Get Crowley's snipers ready, but don't let them shoot. Get the car by the school, but don't damage it."

" _Why_?"

Sam smiled. "I've got their lieutenant. He's going to be making some _announcements_." The lieutenant in the seat next to him paled noticeably as he was mentioned, sliding further back into his seat. "I think we can lead them somewhere."

Dean seemed to be catching on. "They all on the same radio network?"

"That seems to be what he told me."

"Good." Sam could hear the smile in Dean's voice. "I'll see you in a few minutes, babe."

"Love you."

Sam hung up, swerving around a large truck as they sailed onto seventh street. He glanced at the rising sun. "How much time do we have?"

The lieutenant glanced at his watch. "Forty minutes. Maybe a little more."

"This better work." Sam said, flooring the gas pedal. The lieutenant looked at him uneasily as they sped up to 110 miles per hour, clenching the seat rest.

"Are you sure you should be driving? I mean, Jay gave you a shit ton of drugs, man." Sam glared at him from the side of his eye. "Okay, okay. Shutting up."

* * *

Luke Milton watched the Chief from his position on the hospital bed, eyes narrowed. His jaw was wired shut, which prevented him from speaking, but it didn't conceal his glare. Getting chewed out wasn't fun, but when you couldn't respond? That was a special kind of hell.

"And, on top of all that, you _let_ Winchester and his crew get away for the millionth time-" The Chief's tirade was interrupted by a blaring alarm from his phone. He scowled at Luke and pointed at him. "This isn't over-"

" _-high-speed car chase over on seventh-_ " was all Luke caught from the phone, but it was enough. He saw the chief's face light up, murmuring quickly into the receiver. Winchester was at it again, no doubt. Luke sighed, the breath whistling between his teeth.

"See, son, we're gonna do this right." The Chief pointed at him again, walking towards the door. "I'm gonna do what you couldn't. And I don't care if Winchester and Wesson are alive when I take 'em in. You watch that television, boy."

Luke raised his middle finger in response, leaning back into the pillows. He almost wished they wouldn't catch them. He'd like to see the Chief's face then.

A voice rang down the hallway.

"I saw that, Milton."

* * *

Brett looked at DeShaun sitting shotgun, chewing a toothpick between his teeth nervously. "What time did they say it was going off?"

The other man snorted. "Eight O'Clock. You happy hearing it for the _millionth_ time?"

"I just wanna get outta here in time. Shit, man." He looked out the window at the school, a frown screwing up his face. "This shit is fucked up, man."

"So? Jay's payin' me good, like I care." DeShaun shrugged, playing with his gun. "Not like we can shut it off, anyway. Just supposed to make sure the cops don't tow the car, then we can leave. Feel better?"

Brett scowled. "No."

"Well, you-" DeShaun cut off as someone tapped the window, hand going to his gun. A blonde man stood at the driver's window, coat held around his body like he was cold. "What the fuck?"

"Just roll down the window. Probably just a teacher wondering why we here."

"Why _are_ we here, though?"

The other man rolled his eyes. "Just roll down the motherfucking window!"

Brett complied, plastering a smile onto his face.

"Can I help you, mister?"

Dean Winchester opened his coat, shoving an AK-47 into his face.

"Yeah, you can. Get out of the car."

Brett watched DeShaun reach for his pistol and swore under his breath. A second later DeShaun was dead across the dashboard, blood splattering the windshield.

"Holy _shit_!" Brett screamed, throwing his hands up. Winchester just sighed, shoving the gun into his face. "I'm getting out, I'm getting out! Don't shoot me!"

"Wasn't planning on it," Winchester said dryly, leaning against the car. The street around him was desolate, a black Chevy the only car on the block. "Where's your radio?"

"Underneath the left speaker," Brett said quickly, watching as Winchester's famed second in command approached, climbing into the car. The two men traded a few words, though they made little sense to him. "Please. Can I go?"

Winchester glanced at him, almost apathetic. "What are you going to do?"

"I….uh. I wanna go home."

"You gonna contact Jay? His men?"

That was totally what he was going to do. Brett shrugged. "No. I swear."

"Sure." Winchester said, lips twitching. "Why don't you walk on down to Eighth street over there? Get yourself outta here, and I won't bother you."

Brett stared at him. "You're serious."

"Sure." Winchester repeated. nudging him with the AK-47. "Go for it."

"Thanks, man," Brett said, smiling at him. "You're a good guy, really."

Dean Winchester smiled as he took his first steps away, glancing at his watch. "Oh, you know me, super magnanimous."

"I don't know what that means," Brett admitted, "But thanks!"

"Sure."

A few stories up, a blonde woman sat perched on the roof, long-range sniper rifle in hand. She tracked the smaller man as he walked down the street, tapping her earpiece once. Dean's voice floated through.

"I got a fella down here who thought it was a cool idea to blow up a school full of kids," Winchester said, voice cool and easy in her ear. "How do you feel about that, Lillith?"

"Not great, Sir." She replied, focusing in on the figure as the man stumbled slightly. "In fact, I'd say that hits a nerve with me."

Winchester sighed. "Too bad I can't do anything."

Lillith breathed in, then out. She pulled the trigger as her breath escaped, feeling the gun lock underneath her. A half second later the man crumpled on the street, missing the top half of his skull. Blood splattered the pavement as his body made contact, bright red against the salt-stained asphalt.

"...shame." Lillith repeated, tapping the earpiece. "You said your partner's showing up with the lieutenant next?"

"Tall guy, longer brown hair. Don't shoot him." Dean cautioned, making Lillith's eyebrows raise slightly. "I'm serious. His face even gets _near_ those crosshairs and I'll shoot you myself."

"Here he is now," she replied, changing the subject. Grabbing a periscope, she zoomed in on the advancing car. A taller man, good-looking, got out of the car, dragging a smaller black man. "Nice catch, Dean."

"Just stay in contact with everyone else," he muttered. She watched him move to greet the taller man, hands twitching like he wanted to grab him for a hug, relenting at the last second.

Lillith sighed and radioed into the other seven people across the city, checking in. "Everyone sit tight. We have half an hour till detonation."

* * *

Dean grabbed the lieutenant instead of facing Sam's puppy eyes, dragging him across the sidewalk and shoving him into the SUV. The lieutenant gagged at the body in the passenger seat and all the blood across the dashboard, but Dean couldn't give a shit. "Talk."

The lieutenant grabbed the radio with shaky hands, trading a glance with Sam. Dean felt his partner's shoulder brush his and felt something warm flow through him. He looked over Sam quickly, checking for injuries. "Get out of the vest okay?"

Sam smiled, nodding his head. Dean almost got lost in his strange eyes, pupils still blown wide from whatever drug he was on. "Thanks for leaving me in it."

"I figured, Sammy's a big boy, he can handle it," Dean leaned in, grabbing Sam's face in his hands, just going for it. "Are you okay? You still feeling shaky?"

"S'not as bad as it was. I can walk." Sam inclined his head, inches from Dean's face. "I missed you."

Dean leaned closer. "I-"

"Hey, lovebirds!" The lieutenant interrupted from the SUV, holding the radio in his hands. "Someone wanna tell me what I'm supposed to be saying?"

Castiel appeared at Dean's side. "He's right. We have less than half an hour. Do we have a location?"

"The parking tunnel by the river." Sam said quickly, receiving a nod from Dean. "No one parks there in the morning, and it's got enough space to fit all the SUVs."

"But how do we get them all there in time?"

Dean glared at the ex-lieutenant. "You're going to say Jay's rescheduled the location. I heard the two yahoos talking. They think the detonation time is eight o'clock."

"But you said it was seven-thirty…" Sam trailed off, looking at the lieutenant. "So Jay lied to them. He wanted them dead in the cars."

The ex-lieutenant shrugged. "Easier that way. No loose ends."

"So tell them Jay moved the location because someone was onto them. If we get them there by seven thirty they won't get too nervous. They'll think they're getting reassigned or something."

"So hurry."

The ex-lieutenant bent over the radio, speaking quickly into it. Castiel watched him over Dean's shoulder as the two bosses conferred.

"You have snipers on all the SUVs?" Sam asked, tracing a finger down Dean's face, confused by the bruises he saw there but not commenting on them. "Good people?"

"Crowley's people, so hell if I know." Dean said, pursing his lips. "Listen, Sam. If they don't make it to the structure in time…."

"We'll evacuate the area. Call the cops, have them set up a perimeter." Sam said, voice soft. "Think they'll believe us?"

Dean grunted. "They're gonna have to."

* * *

Chris finished his speech to the masses, putting down the bloody receiver. He looked up at the lieutenant guarding him, cracking a smile. "Fun day, huh?"

Castiel Novak tilted his head. "There is nothing humorous about it at all."

"Of course not." Chris shook his head, moving to exit the car. The other man barred the exit immediately. "What the hell? I just wanna get outta here, man!"

"You're driving this SUV," Novak said firmly, eyes stern. He pulled a wicked looking S&W out of his pocket, holding it at waist level. "Get buckled."

Chris put his hands up. "You don't wanna do that, man."

"If I have to shoot you, I will. You only need one hand to drive."

The distant sound of gunshots echoed down the empty streets as they stared at each other. Novak broke first, turning to look as the sound approached. Chris took the opportunity to grab for the gun, jumping onto the smaller man. Novak leapt back, shooting him through the shoulder as Chris fell onto him.

"Dean!"

Off in the distance he could see the two bosses scatter as bullets rained down on them, grinning even through the pain in his arm. Novak shoved him to the side but he was already on his feet, the blow glancing off his knee. A second later the lieutenant was on the ground, one of Chris' bullets through his shoulder.

"And you only need one arm to lay there." Chris sneered. He leapt into the SUV and rolled over the engine, gunning it before Novak could get up and stop him.

He heard the lieutenant shout as he peeled away, running after the SUV. A few well-placed shots through the back window almost took him out, but he was lucky. Ducked down, he floored the gas pedal, muttering under his breath.

* * *

Lillith's ears perked at the sound of gunshots. She immediately tapped her earpiece. "Shots heard, maybe a mile out?"

She saw Dean tackle Sam before she could finish, sending them both tumbling to the concrete. Not a few seconds later bullets whizzed past their heads, skidding across the concrete. "Shit. _Shit_."

Lillith grabbed her gun and swiveled quickly, looking for the other sniper. Three SUVs were headed Dean and Sam's way, chock full of what looked like gang members. She took out all three with twelve shots, heart thudding. Where was the other sniper?

Another shot sent Dean and Sam rolling for cover. Sam pressed Dean against a small concrete wall below her, trying to create some cover with a nearby trash can as Dean fought to stay on top. Alpha male idiots.

Lillith examined the mark the bullet had left on the wall, tracing its trajectory to a building across the street. Something glinted on the roof. _Bingo._

One shot took out the other sniper, and Lillith had the distinct pleasure of watching his brain splatter across the wall behind him. She radioed into Dean. "Sniper's out, but I don't think it's secure. Get out of there."

"On it." Dean grunted, sounding less than pleased, something rustling against his mike as Sam swore in the background. "Cover us."

"Will do, boss." Lillith said. She blinked, cursing to herself as she spotted something. "Shit. You're not going to like this."

" _What_?"

Sirens wailed off in the distance as Lillith spotted flashing lights. "I think the police are on their way."

"You've gotta be fucking _kidding_ me!"

* * *

"Police are coming." Dean said, voice clipped as Sam stood. "We gotta run."

"Castiel?"

The man in question turned the corner then, dashing over to them. The front of his coat was soaked in blood. "He escaped-"

Sam pressed a hand to the other man's chest. "Jesus, Cas, you got shot-"

"That's not important. He took the SUV." Castiel pointed over Dean's shoulder. "Dean, that means he took the _bomb_ as well."

Dean tapped his comm so fast he almost hit himself in the head. "Lillith, shoot the exiting SUV immediately."

"Black, going like, a hundred and forty miles an hour?"

" _Now_!"

The shot echoed over their heads, joined a second later by a booming crash. Sam ran out with Dean pulling on him, Cas on their heels. The street looked like a war zone, scattered bodies and cars strewn across it. The SUV was a good thousand feet away, wrapped around a light pole.

"What time is it?" Sam asked softly, glancing at Castiel, dazed. The sun was shining brightly around them.

"Seven twenty."

"Do we know anything about the other SUV's locations?"

Dean tapped his earpiece. "Lillith, status report on the SUVs."

"18 out of twenty,19 is on its way, ETA two minutes." Dean repeated this information to Sam and his lieutenant. "So it worked after all. It actually fucking worked."

"Not without a couple wrenches." Sam said, eyes pensive, scanning the horizon. "Ten minutes. Okay. We can do this."

Dean blinked as Sam bent over, stretching. "Do what?"

Sam stood, grabbing Dean's head and kissing him fiercely, hands in Dean's hair. All he could think was _Sam,_ the feeling of his lips, his hands on his scalp. He pressed them closer together, seeking the heat of Sam's skin, Sam in his arms. Everything disappeared around him, irrelevant, unimportant. Sam's hands loosened from his hair, dropping to his chest. He bent his head, eyes catching Dean's.

A second later Sam was gone, sprinting towards the SUV like hell was chasing him.

" _Sam_!" Dean shouted, enraged. He turned to Castiel. "Fuck. _Fuck_! You knew he was going to do that, didn't you?"

"No." Castiel said, pale. He was holding his shoulder tightly as blood pumped out of it. He looked stunned. "No, I didn't."

Dean threw himself after Sam, not caring for his answer. His lungs burned as he pushed himself as fast as he could go, sprinting like he hadn't since high school. Sam was a good two hundred feet in front of him, but that didn't mean it was over.

"Lillith, keep the police busy!" He shouted into his comm, breathing heavy as he approached the SUV. The first three squad cars were almost on them, entering seventh street with roaring sirens. "And get Cas back to Bobby-"

"I can't engage without shooting them-"

"Just do it!"

Sam was climbing into the SUV as Dean sprinted towards him, struggling to pull the bodies out of the wreckage. A hail of bullets flew over their heads as Lillith began shooting, drawing shouts from the officers. "Need...some...help?"

"Dean," Sam's face paled, though he didn't stop pulling. "What are you doing here?"

"You think I'm letting you drive a bomb on your own?" Dean replied, grabbing the gangster from before by the feet and dragging him out of passenger seat. Sam finally managed to shove Jay's lieutenant out of the front seat, letting his body roll to the ground. "You're an idiot, did I ever tell you that? You might accidentally blow it up, or something."

"It's dangerous." Sam said as he climbed in, starting the car. Dean hopped into the passenger's seat, blood be damned, breathing a sigh of relief as the engine turned over. The entire front half was smashed in, but the wheels would move, and that was what counted. "I couldn't let you down again. I have to do this."

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me." Dean said bluntly, watching as the car rolled to a start, heaving. "You could never let me down."

Sam glanced across the seat, mouth twitching. "So does this mean we can get married after all?"

"Hell, we can get married now." Dean said, his nerves belying the easy tone as the car shuddered around the first corner. "Just pick up a priest on the way there. We can do it right now in the backseat."

"I have no idea how, but even you manage to make holy matrimony sound sleazy." Sam smiled at him, the car finally going over forty as they turned onto the boulevard. Dean refused to look at the clock. "I never took it off, you know."

"Never took off what?"

"The ring." Sam held up his hand, the metal band shining dully in the morning light. "I looked at it and I thought about you all the time. When Jay was…."

Dean swallowed tightly, plastering on a smile. "You drive like my grandma, Sam."

"Bite me." his lover replied, though he tried to increase their speed a little. "You know, it would be nice if everyone got out of our way. If we had sirens or something we could get through faster…."

"I have an idea," Dean said. He grabbed his gun and rolled down the window. "Hold on," he told Sam, leaning his entire body out of the window.

He raised his gun and fired off as many shots as he could in the air. He began reloading calmly as pedestrians screamed and ran away, dropping their bags and scattering.

The cars didn't move at first, the drivers either confused or shell-shocked. Dean grabbed what looked like a Kalashnikov off the backseat (Jay treated his men well, it seemed) and fired over their heads. " _Everyone out of the fucking way_!"

The cars split, some running into each other in their haste to get off the road. A few drivers got out of their cars and ran, panicked. Dean leaned back in and motioned to Sam to gun it, a pleased look on his face.

"What?"

Sam huffed. "You know the police are gonna be on our asses after this."

"The police are going to be _kissing_ our asses after this," Dean corrected, heart beating faster as they finally sped down the street. only a few blocks away now. "Besides. I didn't hit anyone."

"I'm sure they'll remember how courteous you were during therapy, Dean."

The parking structure loomed into view, a grey, ugly piece of concrete Dean wouldn't go into without at least a gun. Sam took their last corner on two wheels, descending into the structure without stopping. They ran through the ticket checkpoint, smashing the wooden arm like it was a toothpick.

Dean looked down at his watch. Three minutes.

"Where did the lieutenant send them?" Sam asked, maneuvering them towards the underground parking. Everything was dark, lit only by a solitary, broken headlight, and even that was about to burn out.

"B-4, I think. Castiel heard him."

"Well, they'll be in for a surprise."

Sure enough, a row of SUVs were parked within the section, a good dozen or so men standing by them. Dean cringed as Sam parked them nearby drawing his gun. "Is there a door we can shut so they don't leave?"

"I don't give a shit about the people. You and I can hunt them down later." Sam said quickly, ducking into the shadows as some of the men moved like they were going to come over. "How do we keep the SUVs immobile?"

Dean shrugged. "Shoot 'em?"

"Gimme the Kalashnikov then."

"No."

"Dean-"

Gunfire erupted as the closer men recognized them, broken glass sending Sam to the floor as Dean fired back. He fumbled around in the backseat and grabbed the first gun he saw. A small Uzi, not bad at all. Okay, he could work with this. He nudged Dean's leg. "Cover me!"

Dean put up a block of covering fire as Sam leaped out of the backdoor, dropping to his knees next to the SUV. His gun spit out bullets, scattering into the tires of the SUVs the men had been _so_ helpful by lining up. When the last tire deflated he tapped Dean's leg. "We gotta go!"

His partner shot two more men, ducking down. "How much time?"

"I don't know! We have to run!"

Sam covered him as they stood, grabbing Dean's shoulder. They sprinted together towards the exit when Sam felt Dean grunt next to him, slumping towards the ground.

_Oh my God…._

"I'm fine," Dean said, holding his bloody leg. His face was a mess of sweat and blood, but he looked up at Sam with a smile. He shot over his shoulder, not even looking. "Just go, Sam. Go. Leave me."

"Get up." Sam said instead, grabbing his arms. "Move your ass. _Now_."

"Sam, I can't walk." Dean lifted his hand, blood flowing freely once the pressure was gone. It was bad, but Sam couldn't admit it. "Leave. Leave me here."

"You're a fucking idiot. I can't believe I agreed to marry you." Sam said, ducking down. Dean protested as he was lifted into a crude fireman's lift, groaning. "What, can't handle a little pain?"

The jab was shaky, but Dean huffed a laugh anyway. "Your face is painful."

"That doesn't even make sense," Sam grunted as he took the stairs two at a time, concrete walls slipping in and out of focus around him. "I'm on drugs and that doesn't even make sense."

"I could use some drugs right now." Dean said, nuzzling his face into Sam's neck. "Hey Sam?"

"Don't even think about last words," Sam said, swearing as his foot slipped. They were only a flight away from the surface. Dean tried to twist his head to look at his watch, the hands moving in and out of focus. "Stay with me, Dean."

"Like I could move if I wanted."

The second Sam's foot hit grass the earth ripped apart beneath them.

All Dean remembered was heat, burning into him as they were thrown apart. He landed painfully on his leg, burning fire blanketing him as smoke swirled around him, dug into his eyes and nose. He reached for Sam and found burning earth instead, red-hot under his fingertips.

Something hard hit his temple and everything went blessedly silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Reviews are love, and I am really grateful that you guys leave them:)


	24. Ain't No Grave (Can Hold My Body Down)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chicago deals with a bunch of injured mafia bosses who'd really rather go home and get married already. Crowley is Crowley. Castiel just wants a doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Super kudos to LeeMarieJack and everyone else participating in the Supernatural Fanfiction Monthly Awards competition over on ffnet. I'm having fun judging, and it's not too late to nominate your own stories if you want to participate! Hope you enjoy the longer chapter!

_**Before** _

_Dean put up a block of covering fire as Sam leaped out of the backdoor, dropping to his knees next to the SUV. His gun spit out bullets, scattering into the tires of the SUVs the men had been so helpful by lining up. When the last tire deflated he tapped Dean's leg. "We gotta go!"_

_His partner shot two more men, ducking down. "How much time?"_

_"I don't know! We have to run!"_

_Sam covered him as they stood, grabbing Dean's shoulder. They sprinted together towards the exit when Sam felt Dean grunt next to him, slumping towards the ground._

_Oh my God…._

_"I'm fine," Dean said, holding his bloody leg. His face was a mess of sweat and blood, but he looked up at Sam with a smile. He shot over his shoulder, not even looking. "Just go, Sam. Go. Leave me."_

_"Get up." Sam said instead, grabbing his arms. "Move your ass. Now."_

_"Sam, I can't walk." Dean lifted his hand, blood flowing freely once the pressure was gone. It was bad, but Sam couldn't admit it. "Leave. Leave me here."_

_"You're a fucking idiot. I can't believe I agreed to marry you." Sam said, ducking down. Dean protested as he was lifted into a crude fireman's lift, groaning. "What, can't handle a little pain?"_

_The jab was shaky, but Dean huffed a laugh anyway. "Your face is painful."_

_"That doesn't even make sense," Sam grunted as he took the stairs two at a time, concrete walls slipping in and out of focus around him. "I'm on drugs and that doesn't even make sense."_

_"I could use some drugs right now." Dean said, nuzzling his face into Sam's neck. "Hey Sam?"_

_"Don't even think about last words," Sam said, swearing as his foot slipped. They were only a flight away from the surface. Dean tried to twist his head to look at his watch, the hands moving in and out of focus. "Stay with me, Dean."_

_"Like I could move if I wanted."_

_The second Sam's foot hit grass the earth ripped apart beneath them._

_All Dean remembered was heat, burning into him as they were thrown apart. He landed painfully on his leg, burning fire blanketing him as smoke swirled around him, dug into his eyes and nose. He reached for Sam and found burning earth instead, red-hot under his fingertips._

_Something hard hit his temple and everything went blessedly silent._

* * *

_**Now** _

Dean woke to fire raining down around him, pieces of wood and metal flying like angels across the sky, crashing down into the dirt and rubble. The ground rocked with every dispelled chunk, vibrating under his back. His leg was horribly numb, a stark contrast to the burns he could feel blistering on his arms and face.

Sam….Where was Sam? He tried to move his head to look and felt shooting pain travel through his neck, agonizing him into stillness. Someone shouted in the distance, running towards him, but it all seemed...dreamy. Even the pain in his arms was fading now, and wasn't that a blessing…

Flashing lights nearby signalled the approach of paramedics. Dean blinked lazily as hands descended towards his face, unable to move. A board steadied his neck, and suddenly he was lifted even closer towards the sky. Sam…

"We gotta get him to Memorial fast," one EMT said over Dean's head, like he wasn't even there. "This leg looks bad-"

"S-Sam," he croaked, trying to grab the man's uniform. His hand slipped, narrowly missing the other EMT as he attempted to put an IV in his arm. His voice was like sandpaper, raw from inhaling dirt and fumes. " _S-Sam._ "

"Get him on oxygen now," the EMT said, ignoring him and batting his hand away. Finally, he looked down. "Sir, you need to tell us your name. Do you know where you are?"

"I-I need _Sam..._ Listen!" Dean growled, grabbing the man's wrist with all of the strength he could muster. "Was someone else," he broke off, coughing, "was someone else found?"

"I can't comment on other patients," the EMT said, attempting to release himself from Dean's grip, frowning as he wasn't successful. "Sir, you need to tell us your-"

"Is he even _alive_?" Dean roared through the oxygen mask, voice cracking as they pushed him down into the board forcibly. A quick signal to the driver sent the ambulance lurching forward, neither EMT daring to respond. "You have to tell me, please. I-"

The second EMT injected something into the IV tube, and everything faded back to black.

* * *

Castiel stumbled into the ER, blood sheathing both of his arms. It dripped off the cuffs of his coat, dotting the pristine linoleum with red. He found his way more or less into the intensive care section, noting the odd lack of nurses. Not that his injury was life threatening, but if someone else were injured…

He tripped on the corner as he moved towards what looked like private rooms, trying to find _someone._ Echoes of radios and pagers were his only company. Each room he found was empty, so he finally stepped into one and sat down heavily on the table.

A box of bandages was rather visible in a nearby translucent case, so he grabbed it and began the laborious process of undoing his shirts, wincing as his fingers glanced across the bullet wound there. All he could hope was that Sam and Dean were alive, nothing more.

"- _trauma level 1, more than twenty of them en route-"_ he heard someone shouting in the distance, ears raising even as he groaned, digging at the fragments in his arm. A pair of tweezers sat in the box, but they were plastic. Castiel stared at them, still listening.

"- _two coming in now, one of them's really bad_." one of the voices was saying, moving closer to his room. Castiel gave in and grabbed the tweezers, hoping they wouldn't notice the trail of blood to his room. "We gotta prep OP for two-holy shit!"

Castiel sighed, tweezers three inches deep in his arm as the man stared at him, shocked. He dug out the second to last bullet fragment, letting it drop to the small tray next to the table. It made a loud noise against the metal.

"...Hello." Castiel said politely, "Do you have any disinfectant?"

* * *

Jo nursed the babies, one by one, with some help from Singer as night passed into morning. Everything was strangely quiet. Gabriel, restless from the combination of painkillers and adrenaline, was pacing the floor as far as the IV pole would take him. Benny had moved from his spot on the ground, slumped over in a chair, a decent-sized egg developing on his forehead. Above, what sounded like bodies being moved interrupted their tenuous silence periodically.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Gabriel said cryptically, pausing just before eight o'clock. He glanced at Jo, fidgeting with the bandages around his arm. The woman raised an eyebrow, carefully breastfeeding the second twin. At least, Gabriel thought it was the second one. "No, really. Guys. Someone say something."

"What do you think they're doing?" Benny asked half-heartedly, a hand pressed to his head. "You think Sam's okay?"

"All I saw was the text Cas got," Gabriel said, weaving a little where he stood. Singer cut him a glare from Jo's bed, but didn't say anything. "Sam was saying the SUVs we were tracking were bombs, or something."

"Did he say when they were going to go off? All Castiel said was to stay here, no matter what. Protect Jo and the kids."

The smaller man shook his head. "Like I said; a bad feeling. Someone turn on the news, or something."

Benny grabbed the remote and flipped on the small flatscreen in the corner. The room was shocked into silence as reports of an explosion at the parking center filled the screen, images of smoke and fire consuming them. Benny swore softly, moving subconsciously closer to Jo, while Gabriel just stared.

"I bet Cas was there. Sam and Dean too."

Singer spoke this time, shooting him an angry look. "Now, don't you start-"

Gabriel's stupor cut off abruptly, and he startled into action, trying to rip the IV from his arm. "We need to go find them. _Now_."

Jo looked desperately from her babies to the screen, clearly torn. "I can't take them with…"

"Grab the car seats Sa-we bought," Gabriel almost tripped over the name, too raw to think about yet. He grabbed his cellphone from his pocket, smearing blood across the screen, leaving the IV in and grabbing the bag with the other hand. "Where the hell are Ruby and Jess? Anyone seen them?"

Benny lurched to his feet, helping Jo sit up and dress the babies. Singer looked on disapprovingly. "You can't go runnin' to some explosion. They'll arrest you."

"Two guys helping out a mom with kids?" Gabriel said, jabbing at his cellphone. "We'll blend in fine. Benny, get her to the back loading dock in five. I'll meet you there."

He darted out of the room, slightly unsteady on his feet, still dialing Castiel's number. No answer, no big deal. He almost ran into Ruby on the stairs, teetering backwards. "Whoa."

The other woman looked slightly frantic. "You hear about the explosion?"

"We were just about to head down there." Gabriel peered around her, seeing a small crowd of people. "Why?"

Ruby shifted her feet. "Can you make room for a couple more?"

His trademark smirk was a little dull. "If you can beat me to the garage on those heels."

"You're on, IV boy."

* * *

Sam was in a white tuxedo, not dissimilar from the one he'd worn the first night at their nightclub, ages ago. All around him, the air shimmered with soft fairy lights, throwing shadows across white tents, billowing in the light breeze. Everything was white. Outdoors, somewhere grassy, the sounds of a party carried on around him. Someone reached their hand out to him, faceless, a soft chuckle, something glinting on his hand, _Sam, don't be such a-_

He woke up to a brilliant light in his eyes, hissing and turning away from it. A distant pain stretched over his face and arms, numbed by something cool pressed against his skin. Above him, two figures spoke quickly, their words slipping out of his ears before he could comprehend them.

"- _burns to his legs and arms, lucky they didn't touch his face-"_

" _And no broken bones?"_

" _None."_ The figure flipped his chart as Sam began to feel a burning ache in his shoulders. He forced his eyes open, finding his arms shackled to the bars of the bed. _Please no..._ he thought, thinking of Jay, nauseous as he saw the IV line running up his left arm. _Please not again…_

" _-expected recovery?"_

" _I don't know. At least the other one took less of the damage. Must've been going up the stairs first, didn't get caught with as much shrapnel. Poor man."_

" _They're still criminals."_

" _I know-hey. This one's waking up."_

Sam kept his eyes wide, but the effort left him drained. He slid back towards his pillows, unconsciousness claiming him instantly.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Chicago didn't operate well without the loss of its kings. Luke only knew this because the Chief had come in to brag again, declaring he had "captured" Sam Wesson and Dean Winchester, and they were in handcuffs for the rest of their lives. Doubting this, Luke nodded as much as his wired jaw would let him.

Something told him the charges wouldn't stick. They were already getting more reports of petty crime with all of law enforcement focusing on the Winchester Wesson organization. When the big fish went down, the rest go back to business.

Not as if Luke cared. Apparently the two were being held upstairs together, handcuffed in a double room for "better security". Luke couldn't tell the Chief this was a horrible mistake because of his jaw, but-even if he could-he didn't think he would bother.

Michael didn't come visit him, and neither did Jo. After a few hours of listening to the Chief periodically rant about his successes ("we got 'em, Milton, and they ain't going nowhere-they're burned to a crisp. The younger one can barely breathe on his own. Might not even last the night, Milton, think about that") after a while the tales made him nauseous. Sure, he hated a lot about Sam and Dean-they'd taken everything from him, his wife, his kids, his respect-but they didn't deserve to die in some boarded up room, burned half to death as the Chief sneered at them.

Luke could barely resist punching that prick in the face every time he came in the room. He figured Dean wouldn't take too kindly to the subtle threats against Sam.

Then he got an idea.

* * *

Dean woke up screaming, a shout caught in his throat as he tried to sit up. A sharp pull on either wrist informed him before he'd even opened his eyes that he was handcuffed. Moving as much as he could, he sat up on what looked like a regulation hospital bed, arms locked to the bars on either side of him. Burning pain in his hands quickly overtook the sting of the handcuffs.

They were blistered, and what wasn't shiny red was wrapped in stiff, white bandages. He moved his fingers experimentally, blinking away whatever drug they'd given him. Something was missing.

"They took your ring off because your hands were swollen."

Dean spun towards the voice, ignoring the pain in his shoulders as the movement pulled against the cuffs. Sam lay on the bed across the room, handcuffed in a similar manner. His chest and legs were wrapped in bandages, but his face was clear. A quick flash of white was all he got, but that smile nearly ruined Dean.

"You're alive."

Sam shrugged, lips tightening as his handcuffs jostled. "So are you. How's the leg?"

"What leg?" Dean asked innocently, barely glancing at his thigh. It moved well, the muscle pulling at what felt like a nice row of stitches. "The better question is, how are _you_ feeling, Mr. Abominable Snowman?"

Sam frowned, eyes flicking down to the swathes of bandages. "I'd be better, if I didn't have to carry your fat ass up those stairs."

" _Fat_." Dean chortled, turning away from Sam as he broke into somewhat manic laughter. "We're chained to hospital beds God knows where, and you just called me fat!"

A lovely little pout settled on his partner's face. "You started it."

"Sam-"

They were interrupted by the arrival of a police officer, wearing the rank of….Dean blinked, trying to make it out. Eh, someone important. Dark skinned and angry-looking, that was all he could surmise for now. The man walked up to their beds, standing in between the beds and crossing his arms. A cowed-looking doctor stood behind him. "Taking things as seriously as ever, huh, boys?"

"I'm sorry," Dean said, raising an eyebrow. "Do I know you?" He turned to Sam, "Sam, you know this clown?"

The man's face flushed slightly, and he walked closer to Dean's bed. Good. He'd like to see the motherfucker try. "I'm the Chief of district eight, and I'm the _clown_ that's going to send you to jail for the rest of your sorry-ass life, Winchester."

"Ooh, a _Chief,_ " Sam muttered under his breath, making Dean snicker. He straightened when the man glared at him, coughing. "Of course, sir. What are we being charged with?"

"Everything." the man hissed, glaring at Sam, though the other man couldn't look more innocent in that moment, puppy eyes open wide, hair tossed across his face. "The DA'll be getting the charges together tonight. Only reason we can't take you in are the _superficial_ burns you sustained after damaging millions of dollars in public property."

"Superficial," Dean repeated, glancing down at his burned hands, then back to Sam's bandaged legs. "You really are a clown."

The Chief lunged at him, hands outstretched. "You wait a goddamned _minute-"_

"Sir," the anxious doctor broke in, smoothly moving between Dean and the enraged cop. "I need to treat my patients."

The man sneered. "Make it quick. Don't get too close, they might kill you."

"Wow, okay," the doctor muttered under his breath, putting on a sunny smile for the cop. "That's what the _armed_ guard is for outside, right? Two people to save me in case something goes wrong?"

"Right." The Chief said, walking out of the room, eyes stuck on Dean. "I'll be outside too. Make it quick."

"Could he get more cliche?" Dean asked Sam, who shook his head. "This is Luke's boss? Really? I kinda feel bad for him now."

"Sir," the doctor broke in, sending Dean a quick smile. He was young-looking for a doctor, all big blue eyes and blonde hair. "I need to look at your bandages."

"Treat Sam first," he ordered, surprised when the kid nodded. Sam raised an eyebrow but acquiesced, wincing as his bandages were removed. "How is it?"

"Not as bad as it could have been," the doctor said, not looking up. Sam's skin was reddened but not blistered as much. "Bad, but I don't think you'll need skin grafts." The doctor muttered something along the lines of _not like they'd let you_ to himself, shaking his head.

Dean let out an internal breath as this was announced. The idea of Sam having to go through something as terrible as that-it made him nauseous just thinking about it. "So, kid."

"Alfie," the doctor said absent-mindedly, scribbling something on Sam's chart. "And I'm twenty eight. Yes?"

" _Alfie_ ," Dean repeated, sugar-sweet. He jangled his cuffs. "So we're under lock and key? Armed guard?"

"Two of them," the doctor said, checking Sam's monitors and nodding to himself. "They're taking you straight to court after this, no matter what anyone here said."

"No lawyer?" Sam asked, sounding a little disappointed. Alfie shook his head, looking sympathetic. Sam's puppy eyes came out again in full force, and the doctor sighed. "You don't think that's right."

"I don't think you guys blew up the parking structure, to be honest." The doctor said, crossing the room to Dean. He put on a fresh pair of gloves, checking Dean's chart. "I've heard….rumors. You guys don't kill innocent people."

"We don't kill anyone," Dean said, getting a surprised laugh from the doctor, who poked at his leg. "Hey! That hurt!"

"Oh no," Alfie said, mouth quirking. He leaned over Dean's leg, looking up once. Something unspoken was in his eyes. "Lean back. I need to look at this closer."

Dean did as he was asked, somewhat confused. Could the doctor not see the bullet wound three inches in front of his face? The doctor made eye contact again as he leaned forward, something slipping out of his pocket onto the bed. "Hey, Doc-"

Alfie stood up suddenly, snapping the gloves off. "Looks good to me. Listen, I'm sorry again that you couldn't _call your lawyer_. I have other patients to see, though, so goodbye."

Dean looked down as the doctor raised his voice loudly, spotting what had fallen out of his pocket. A slim phone sat within reach of his right hand. Alfie made eye contact one last time, winking. Then he was gone, a quick conversation with the guards passing before he disappeared from sight.

Sam mouthed _what the hell?_ to him from across the room, but he was already in motion. Dean grabbed the phone immediately, unlocking it with bandaged fingers and all. He dialed Crowley's number from memory, praying the other man would pick up.

The lawyer was on the line for less than thirty seconds, listening to Dean before speaking. And boy, did Dean like what he heard. He hung up after a moment and looked around the room.

Next to him was a basin of what looked like discarded bandages and sponges. Dean chucked the phone into the slush, watching it disappear into the red-tinged water. "Ahhhh."

Sam was grinning cheek to cheek across the room. "Does this mean we can get married now?"

"As soon as we get out, babe," Dean said. "I'll throw the biggest wedding in this entire goddamned city."

"The state," Sam added, gooey-eyed like some teenager. "And there have to be flowers."

"Ew. Flowers make my nose itch."

Sam frowned, a cute line appearing between his eyes. "Dean."

"...Fine."

* * *

Luke managed to evade the first three nurses, moving uncertainly in the wheelchair, but still appearing like he had a purpose. His knee was bandaged thicker than his chest, and he couldn't move his mouth at all; most of them just looked on in pity, moving towards whatever task they had to complete.

He found the burn unit exactly where the Chief had been bragging about, and took the elevator up four flights of stairs. Two guards stood at the end of the hallway, glaringly obvious. Bingo. Luke almost laughed, remembering at the last second how much that would hurt. He settled for a smirk, wheeling his way towards the two bosses' room.

"Hey, Luke. You feeling better?" one of the patrolmen asked him, like the shattered knee and wired jaw weren't obvious. "the Chief send 'ya?"

Luke raised an eyebrow at the inane question before nodding vigorously. The two men stepped aside, waving him in. He faced the doorway and maneuvered himself in, heart racing.

"Luke Milton," Sam Wesson's voice rang out, stopping him in his tracks. (Or wheels. Whatever) He blinked, turning towards the sound. The two men sat in beds a good twelve feet from each other, handcuffed to the rails. They should've looked miserable, but they barely appeared concerned, slumped over. Winchester seemed to be dozing. "Dean."

"Hnh?" the other man startled awake, eyes landing on Luke. He sighed. "Aw man. Are you here to brag, too?"

Luke shook his head. Wheeling closer to them. He moved his hand in front of his chest, doing a poor imitation of the ASL for _sorry._ Sam seemed to get it, nodding once. Dean glanced at his partner, then back to Luke, frowning but saying nothing.

"Any chance you can push us closer together?" Sam asked him, eyes digging deep. Luke glanced at the beds, which sat on little wheels. "Please?"

He wheeled over slowly, bumping into the metal cot. With a strained push, he managed to shove Wesson's bed closer to Dean by about an inch. Vaguely disappointed by this failure, he backed up and rammed into it again with the wheel. This time it moved a few feet, edging closer to Dean. The other man held his hand out, fingers just grazing Sam's. Another labored push, and they were holding hands, pulling themselves as close as they could get.

Luke wheeled backwards, confused why he'd helped, but not sorry. Of course, this was when the Chief barged back.

"Milton?"

Luke sighed, unable to put his head in his hands. He settled for glaring at Sam and Dean. Damn soft heart of his. He missed Michael suddenly, the ache starting in his heart.

"Whatever," the Chief said, skipping over the issue. "The security escort will be upstairs in five minutes. We'll get you loaded up, and you'll never see sunshine again."

Dean actually rolled his eyes, drawing a snort from Sam. A small commotion at the door interrupted whatever the Chief was about to say.

"No, I have the constitutional right to be in there with my _clients_. Innocent until proved otherwise, that's your law, isn't it?" A clipped British voice berated whatever argument the two beat cops put up. "Exactly. Now, step aside before I invoke any more of your silly amendments."

The man who had visited him with the divorce papers stepped in. He was wearing another finely-tailored suit, carrying a briefcase and nothing more. He looked less threatening than usual, breaking into a smile as he saw the two bosses. "Well, boys. Crowley's here."

"Excuse me-" The Chief interrupted, face flushing close to beet red. "You can't be in here right now, these prisoners are being transported-"

"Right. _You_." Crowley pointed at him, eyes narrowed. "This the one, boys?"

"Yeah, that's him." Dean drawled, leaning back into his pillows. "Leave him in here, so we can hear it. I'm bored."

Crowley's lips twitched. "Chief Hendrickson, correct?"

"...That's right." the Chief said, pausing like he was confused what to do with the smaller man. "What do you want?"

"Oh, not much." the lawyer said, digging in his briefcase. He pulled out a handful of printed papers. "Just a few of the text messages you sent to Theresa Lang over the past, say, two months."

Hendrickson paled noticeably, hands dropping to his sides. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't." Crowley said, handing him the papers. "Except all of these came from your phone line, verified by the tracking number….there." He pointed, _tsk_ ing under his breath. "Sexting a sexual assault victim? That's a little questionable, even by my standards."

The Chief seemed lifeless, paging through the text messages one by one. He opened his mouth, only to close it a second later. "...what do you want?"

He sounded so utterly defeated, it gave even Luke pause. Crowley grinned broadly, setting his briefcase down. "Handcuff keys, my two _clients_ , and dropping all charges, no comments made."

"You…"

Crowley arched a brow. "Do you really want me sending these to my friends at Fox? Because I can do that faster than you can spell the word _Fox,_ apparently, considering how eloquently you're answering my questions."

The Chief held the papers close to his chest as he dug in his pocket for the keys, drawing a snort from Crowley. "...I keep these."

"I made copies, love. You must know how a printer works?" The lawyer grabbed the keys from his lifeless hand, tossing them to Dean. "Cancel the transport as well, and I won't say anything to your wife."

"Hey!" Hendrickson said angrily, only to realize he had no choice. "...fine." He grabbed his walkie-talkie out of his belt, speaking briefly. His lips closed, pressed shut until they looked white. Luke understood his dilemma, having been in the same boat only months ago. "It's done."

"Lovely." Crowley clapped his hands together. Steps sounded outside, followed by the entrance of all of Wesson and Winchester's friends-a bruised-looking man, an injured lieutenant carrying an IV bag-Gabe, Gabriel?-what looked like a doctor, seven more lieutenants or foot soldiers, and-Jo. With two baby carriers.

"Are you okay?" Gabriel cried, flinging himself towards Sam and Dean. The two bosses were curled up near each other on Dean's bed, having gotten the handcuffs off. "Is Jay dead? Are you guys okay? What happened?"

"I have _no idea_ what happened to Jay," Sam said pointedly, glancing at Hendrickson. "We're okay. Burned up a little. Dean's gonna need a wheelchair?"

"Oh, you aren't gonna carry me again?" Dean asked snarkily, getting a very light smack from his partner. "Shame. I liked the view."

"Wheelchair for Dean, okay, I can do that," one of the lieutenants, the bruised one, said. He stumbled out of the room, looking rather dazed. "Wheelchair…"

Jo was staring at him when he looked up. The two baby carriers were covered, but what that implied had his heart racing again. She walked over slowly, setting the carriers down by the foot of the bed. Her eyes flashed dangerously, the warning was clear; you can watch, but you _may_ not touch.

Luke accepted this; with a small nod her way, he wheeled himself out of the room. He'd done what he could.

* * *

Jo watched Luke leave with a bitter smile, getting a quick pat on the back from Ruby and Jess. She carefully unbuckled William first, supporting his neck as she picked him up. The look on Dean's face when he was set into his arms was priceless. It was pure joy, reflected in every ounce on Sam's face.

"Jo…" Dean whispered. His voice cracked as Will shifted in his arms, awed. "I…"

"Meet William Dean Harvelle," She said, actually hearing the moment Dean's breathing cut off. She hefted John out of his baby seat and carefully handed him to Sam. "And John Samuel Harvelle."

Sam grinned as John fussed awake, holding out his pinky to the little boy. The baby latched on and sucked on it hungrily, making the larger man smile even wider. Dean kept glancing at William, back to John, then back to William again.

"Nice job, Jo." Dean said after a long minute.

Around him, the room clamored back into noise. Jess and Ruby chatted loudly with Singer, who was frowning good-naturedly at Dean and Sam's bandages. Gabriel sat down heavily on Sam's abandoned bed, joined by Benny and the much sought-after wheelchair a second later. Crowley sidled up next to Meg, who couldn't look less interested if she's tried. "Are we missing someone?"

Sam frowned, counting. "One, two, three…seven….nineteen..."

A man in bloody clothing stumbled into the room. Ruby screamed, then smacked Jess for laughing at her. On second glance, it was Castiel, who looked rather confused, but bandaged up and alive. He surveyed the room with luminous blue eyes, landing on Sam, Dean and the babies. The lieutenant frowned.

"What did I miss?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N One or two more chapters left, I'm thinking. Gotta have that wedding! As always, reviews are love...:)


	25. A Long, Sweet Minute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean get married! This writer gets carried away with long-ass chapters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N This chapter got a little long, but I'm a sucker for weddings. The next chapter should be the party, so hopefully you enjoy!

_**Three Months Later** _

_Bang. Bang._

_Bangbangbangbangbangbang._

Dean stopped shooting and checked the sights on the handgun, pursing his lips. He glanced down the shooting range, narrowing his eyes at the black and white target.

_Bang._ Straight through the heart.

"Dean."

He didn't turn around, recognizing vaguely that he wasn't wearing any sort of ear protection. The handgun started clicking in his hands, out of ammo. He threw it to the side, picking up a slim AK-47 he'd bought off the Russians a couple months ago. The sight was slightly skewed, so he realigned it with his thumb, cradling it closer to his chest than strictly necessary.

"Dean." Benny's voice said from behind him. "I know you can hear me."

Dean grunted, sighting on the target in lieu of a proper answer. A deafening burst of gunfire erupted, completely obliterating the slim paper target. One bullet after another tore into the colored lines. When he looked down, his hands were shaking, the barrel of the gun turning cherry-red. He threw it down in disgust, stalking down toward the target, finally addressing his lieutenant. " _What_?"

"You have, uh, like, five minutes before we need to leave for the ceremony."

Dean looked over his shoulder at the lieutenant, noting he'd dressed up: A nice navy suit, stretched around his shoulders a bit. He looked down at his own black tuxedo, feeling his hands begin to tremble even more acutely. "Okay." He said simply, tearing the shredded paper target down and putting another up. "Three more minutes."

"I know you think shooting is going to help you be less nervous, but-" Benny cutting off with wide eyed. "You really are nervous, aren't you?"

Dean scowled at him, walking back to his AK-47. "Me, nervous?"

"You shot three AK cartridges while I've been here."

"So?"

"That's, like, 3000 bullets." Benny shook his head, glancing nervously as Dean reloaded, aiming on the target. "Look, Sam is probably wondering where you are."

Dean flicked a glance at his watch, gritting his teeth. He aimed at the target's head this time, feeling his hands shake and hating himself for the weakness. "Sam and I aren't allowed to see each other till the ceremony, remember?"

It had been a stupid rule Castiel and Gabriel had insisted on enforcing, and in reality it was just making his nerves that much worse. At least if Sam had been here, he could freak out and then calm down a little, maybe have a little pre-marital fooling around. But no, he was downstairs in the basement shooting paper targets. With Benny.

"They're outside, aren't they? Watching."

Benny opened his mouth, then rethought whatever he was going to say. "Maybe."

"I pay those motherfuckers," Dean said, looking at his watch with a strained expression. With some reluctance, he threw down the AK-47, watching it clatter across the metal firing table. "Okay. What's the plan?"

Benny looked somewhat surprised. "I-I, uh, am supposed to drive you to the park, get you dressed-" His eyes roved up Dean's suit, frowning at the gunpowder lining the cuffs. "Make sure you don't see Sam. That's it."

Sam, the sap he was, had chosen a beautiful nature reserve somewhere out of the state. The thing about nature reserves was that they didn't just let people waltz in and reserve a spot for a wedding, as Dean had discovered. He'd also discovered that donating a shit ton of money to a new nature learning center in the reserve went a long way towards Sam's dream.

If Sam had asked, he probably would've found a way for them to get married on the moon, or something. But a park? A _park?_ "This isn't happening."

Benny looked nervously at him, watching his hands closely. Dean tucked them away, self-conscious. "You're not getting, uh, cold feet, are you?"

" _No_!"

"Then why do you look like you're about to run out of here and shoot the mayor or something?"

Dean folded his arms, leading his lieutenant out of the firing range, muttering to himself. "Bastard's dirty anyway. Been doing some shady deals with the Ukranians under the table."

"I thought we liked the Ukranians?"

"That's the Yugoslavians." Dean clarified, taking the steps three at a time. He exited the basement no less nervous than an hour before. "Where's Sam? Did he survive the stag party Gabriel was promising?"

Benny swallowed abruptly, motioning towards the parking lot. "Wow, look at the time! Let's go find our ride, huh?"

"You didn't answer the question."

His lieutenant paled a little at his tone, muttering something under his breath that sounded a lot like _why did I have to do this alone?_ "You, uh, thinking the Porsche, or the Corvette? Maybe the Lotus?"

Dean fixed his lieutenant with a glare strong enough to melt steel, following him towards the company cars. "The Porsche."

Benny hummed in nervous agreement, glancing around the empty warehouse as he grabbed the keys. "Everyone's already out at the reserve, waiting."

Dean felt a shiver of panic as he thought about the crowds, following his lieutenant numbly as they climbed into the car. "You only invited close members, right? Just the two organizations, some family?"

"Of course." Benny said, gripping the wheel with a white-knuckled grip as he backed out of the parking lot. "We have some, uh, people, on media control."

"Media control?"

"In case they try to bust in." Benny said, taking the curve onto 17th with a little more force than necessary. "Not that that's going to be a problem. At all. Totally not a problem. But just in case."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You're not helping my nerves here, Benny."

"Sorry."

* * *

Rufus shoved Lillith a little from her position in the tree, glaring at her. He adjusted his scope, leaning forward as they aimed on the fences. "You're messing up my sights, little lady."

The other sniper glared at him, flipping her hair as she assembled her rifle. A small earpiece was in her ear, attached to a wire on the gun. "You're interrupting them. Shh."

"Interrupting what?" Rufus sighted down to the fences, where a cesspool of media were gathered, trying to catch a glimpse of the wedding. They were about two miles out, but it wouldn't be impossible. "Hey, give me an earbud."

Lillith obliged, leaning forward. A female reporter at the bottom of the fence was whispering with her cameraman, planning some sort of insurgent plan. She was in heels and the fence was a good six feet, but she looked determined. Rufus shared a look with Lillith.

"What are we going to do?"

"There are seventeen snipers around the fences." Lillith said carefully. "It's not like she'll make it through."

"But you think she'll try."

Rufus watched as the reporter shuffled subtly out of her heels, edging closer to the fence. "I don't want to shoot her on live television. We'd never live it down."

Lillith looked thoughtful, glancing down at the woman. "You got an tranq darts?"

"Yeah, in my bag."

The woman started grabbing at the fence, testing her weight against the metal. Lillith began to look a little nervous. "Then _grab_ them, grandpa!"

Rufus angled to grab his bag from the other tree limb, almost falling out of the tree as Lillith began sighting on the woman. Three darts were in a black case at the top of the bag, but he couldn't find them for the life of him…

" _Hurry_." Lillith growled, tapping his leg. "She's got a foot in the fence already!"

"I _am_ hurrying!" Rufus finally grabbed ahold of the case, handing her one of the darts. Without a pause, the other sniper loaded it and fired at the woman's neck, the small silver tip hitting dead-on. A moment later she collapsed into the surprised hands of her cameraman, completely unconscious. "...Shit."

Already, the sounds of worried, over-dramatic reporters flooded the air, women running over in their heels, trying to fan the unlucky journalist. Rufus breathed a sigh of relief as the cameraman said nothing, just nodding along with the cries of " _oh, must be heat stroke, poor thing_ ," and " _close to ninety out here, no wonder she passed out_ ,", wisely staying silent. And far away from the fence.

Lillith elbowed Rufus in the ribs, leaning back into the foliage. "Nice work, grandpa."

He sighed, putting his head in his hands. "You going to the ceremony?"

"My shift here ends in five minutes, so yeah." She smiled at him, blonde hair catching the light filtering through the trees. "You think I'd miss out on seeing the Great Dean Winchester shake like a tree during a hurricane? Hell no."

Rufus shook his head, smiling. "Why do I feel there's going to be a lot of alcohol involved?"

"There always is with those two."

* * *

Sam woke to the feeling of bright light on his face, rolling over and trying to dig his head into the pillows. God, his face was _burning_. He groaned as hands clawed at his skin, trying to move him. His body felt gritty, beyond sore and exhausted. Someone shook him, hard. "Sam."

"Nhhhhggg."

"Sam, you have to get up." a panicked, female voice said. Another shake, and his whole body moved this time. "Get _up_!"

He groaned again as someone forced him up, a cool cloth tracing his face. He binked blearily, finding Ruby and Jess standing in front of him, a worried expression on their faces. Ruby looked absolutely dishevled, and Jess didn't look much better. Pounding pressure made him close his eyes with a wince. "What happened? Where am I?"

"You don't remember?" Ruby asked nervously, waving a hand in front of his face. Jess smacked her, whispering something Sam didn't hear. "Okay, okay. That's fine. We just gotta get you up and ready."

Sam glanced at the traitorous sun, streaming in from the windows. He groaned and pulled himself into a sitting position, a feat in and of itself. "What time is it?"

"Eleven."

Sam's heart nearly stopped. " _Eleven_?"

Ruby looked affronted. "I told you to wake up!"

"I-I-" Sam cut off, glaring at the two women. "This is your fault. I don't remember, but this is definitely your fault." He pointed at Ruby. "Start the shower. Jess, get my suit."

"Okay." The two women hurried off, leaving Sam to collapse against the headboard. Eleven. He had less than half an hour before the wedding, and he couldn't remember how he got in bed.

"Where is everyone then?"

Ruby shouldered her way out of the shower, steam curling from behind her. "At the reserve already You're telling me you don't remember _anything_ from last night? We talked about all of this then, Mr. Anal-Retentive fact hoarder."

Sam blinked, unsure what to say to that. "No. Last thing I remember is saying goodbye to Dean, and getting into a...taxi?"

"Uber. Only the best for you, boss." Ruby smacked him somewhat lightly on the arm, probably a habit she picked up from Jess. "Get in the shower, and make it quick. I'm supposed to blow dry your hair too, and lord knows that'll take an hour."

Sam nodded at her and slid off the bed. He stumbled slightly, trying to maintain his balance as he struggled towards the door.

"How much did we let him drink last night?" Jess asked quietly, thinking he was out of earshot. Ruby just groaned.

"I stopped counting after eleven tequila shots. The only person who drank more was Gabriel. Did you see what he did to that mascot?"

Jessica just made a _tsk_ ing sound, so Sam closed the bathroom door, thinking that probably explained more than he'd want to know.

* * *

Gabriel leaned back into one of the tent poles, a dark pair of Ray Bans across his face. All around him, the reserve was in a flurry of motion as tents, tables and seats were set up. Close to 300 of their men were already in attendance, standing awkwardly around the perimeter like good soldiers who'd forgotten they weren't on duty. Jo was nearby under a shady tent, breastfeeding the twins, wearing a dazzling dress done in gold and light pink. She was the only one who didn't look worried.

What if Sam didn't show up, or Dean? What if one of them ran? The semi-illicit and very disapproved-of pool had high bills on Dean getting cold feet. Gabriel had ferried a small bet in via some channels, though it wasn't like he wanted to see Sam jilted on the altar-but it paid to have bets ready. It paid really well.

The morning light was nothing short of vicious around them, and the hangover he was sporting didn't help, but Gabriel couldn't help smiling. Castiel's soothing fingers at his temples helped a little, but not much. He leaned even further back, laying against the other man's chest.

"You think the boys made it out alive after last night?"

Castiel looked thoughtful, and also very hungover. Subtle bruises colored the bag under his eyes. His voice was gravelly when he spoke. "Dean did. I made sure of that."

"Of course you did," Gabriel said, squinting. "I think Ruby and Jess took Sam."

"You _think_?"

"It's a fair thought," Gabriel said defensively, crossing his arms. He opened his mouth to further respond, only to spot something down the road. "Hey, look! I see Dean's car."

"That is my cue," Castiel gave Gabriel a quick kiss, tugging briefly on his lapels. Gabriel smiled despite the hangover, admiring his boyfriend's ass in the suit pants. Something about grey suits and shiny shoes did something to him. "I'll see you later."

"Of course." Gabriel nodded as Castiel took over damage control from a tired-looking Benny. Dean didn't look hungover at all, but the set of his shoulders suggested he was….nervous? Couldn't be. Gabriel shook his head, glancing down at his phone. Where was Sam? Apparently his bet was going to pay off.

"Gabe."

He spun, cursing his stupidity as his stomach protested the movement. Before him stood Ruby, dressed haphazardly in a red summer dress, makeup just this side of acceptable and totally not rushed. "You got Sam?"

"Take him. Please." the woman begged, gesturing at a car parked a few dozen feet away, "Me and Jess have to go take over for the west perimeter until the ceremony."

"Sure." Gabriel said, putting his hands in his pockets and walking over. Sam was slumped over in the backseat, dressed in a beautiful white suit, his hair styled loosely. Gabriel tapped the window none too lightly, watching the man jump. "Rise and shine, princess!"

"Gabe," Sam groaned, opening the door without opening his eyes. "What did you do to me? I can't think."

"I didn't do anything, kiddo. That's called alcohol, and if I remember correctly, you were the one drinking it."

Sam's puppy eyes were narrowed into a truly terrifying glare. Gabriel held his hand out nervously, hoisting the taller man to his feet. He looked good; whatever Ruby and Jess had done was working miracles. He barely looked hungover at all, so Gabriel told him exactly that.

"...thanks." Sam shook his head at the jibe, accepting a pair of sunglasses from Gabriel gratefully. "What now? Just...wait around?"

The way Sam's face downturned almost made him laugh. It seemed impossible for a six foot plus man to look deflated, but the boss managed. "You really miss Dean, don't you?"

Sam glared at him, somehow still visible through the sunglasses. "Shut up. I could shoot you, and everyone would believe me if I said it was an accident."

Gabriel saw some real heat in his eyes, and wisely gestured towards a tent to their left, subtly checking Sam for weapons. "We have your _rooms_ set up before the ceremony. Why don't we go hang out there?"

The boss looked more like an exhausted child as he followed Gabriel to the tents, stumbling here and there. When they finally sat down, he looked up at Gabriel with a pleading look. "Are you sure I'm not allowed to go see Dean?"

Those puppy eyes nearly did him in, but after years of experience, he was able to muster enough courage to turn away. "No. It's the rules. Bride isn't allowed to see the groom the whole day. I don't care if you wanna give Dean a handjob or not."

Sam's eyebrow raised, a coy smile on his lips. "Even if I don't look while doing it?"

Gabriel sighed, sitting in a chair across from the other man. "Even then. Stay put, okay? I have to go organize a few things. I'll have someone else outside the tent, so don't think you can just sneak off."

Sam looked entirely too innocent as he fixed Gabriel with a smile. "Okay, Gabe. I promise."

"...Why don't I believe you?"

The other man tilted his head, a lot like Castiel. "Why wouldn't you?"

" _Why wouldn't you_?" Gabriel mocked to himself, turning away. "If I find out you did something, you're never living it down, Wesson."

Sam smiled at him, fluttering his eyelashes. "Don't worry. You won't find out."

* * *

Castiel frowned as Dean refused to sit for the third time, narrowing his eyes at his boss. "Is something wrong?"

Dean continued to pace the small tent, almost a mile and a half away from Sam's, a frustrated look on his face. " _Yes_."

"Alright….would you like to see if I can fix it?'

"Can I see Sam?'

Castiel frowned. "No. Remember, the rule-"

"Yes, that stupid rule! Why the fuck did you bring that up in the first place?"

Castiel felt a little hurt, but relented. "It's traditional. And special. Once you see Sam for the first time at the altar, reports say the experience is more-"

Dean cut him off with a wave of his hand, finally sitting and putting his head in his hands. "Can I have a gun?"

"A gun?"

"Yes, a gun." Dean walked alarmingly fast towards Castiel, hands out. "Gimme a gun now, or I'm going to tear down this entire tent and run away."

"You wouldn't do that to Sam." Castiel chided, but crossed his arms. "Let me go speak with Gabriel, and then I will determine if you need a weapon."

"Fine." Dean said curtly, turning and sitting down. "How much time do we have?"

"Less than an hour."

"Leave, then."

Dean felt bad as Castiel exited the tent rather quickly, wondering where his jittery nerves were coming from. Maybe getting married was making him into a horrible person. It sure felt like it. He dozed for a few minutes, trying to force the negative energy somewhere.

"Sir?" A man's voice said in a thick accent from outside of the tent, "Mr. Winchester, are you in there?"

Dean frowned at the...vaguely european accent, not standing to open the tent. "Yes?"

"I have the items you requested."

_That was quick,_ Dean thought, _Kudos to Castiel_. "Enter, please."

"Of course, sir."

Dean's eyebrows went up as a tall man dressed in a tank top and shorts walked in, holding a large hat in front of his face. In his left hand was a small tray, in his right a box of caterer's supplies. Exactly what he didn't order. "...can I help you?"

"I'm having trouble with something," the ridiculous-looking man said, slowly taking off his face. Dean's heart jumped as the man's face was revealed, Sam shining smile framed by a pair of dimples. "I was wondering if you could...help me out?"

God, Sam looked so delicious in white, tan shoulders standing out against the color like it was meant for his skin. Dean took one look at him and leapt to his feet, dragging Sam down by the hair, not caring as his lover grunted in his arms. "Damn straight I'll help you out."

Sam laughed as Dean led him over to the small, makeshift couch Castiel had provided him with, letting Dean push him onto the futon with little protest. He grabbed Sam's tank top and tore it off him, unbuttoning his shorts in the same breath. A minute later and they were both naked, sweaty and absolutely insatiable.

"I'm kinda working on a time table here, sir," Sam quipped, staring up at him as Dean paused, savoring the moment. Sam, spread out in front of him; the world, the same. "If you could, you know, hurry things up."

Dean needed no further chiding. Sam actually laughed a little as his hands roved up and down his body, looking for purchase, pleasure, anything. "I missed you."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Sam said innocently, groaning as Dean's fingers entered him, breathy little huffs interrupting his calm tone. "I-I'm, ah ah, back at my t-tent. R-reading."

He let out a small, hushed moan as he entered Sam, dizzy with the heat around him, the slick on his skin. He slowly started rocking into the other man, burgeoning towards a rhythm, hands wrapped in Sam's hair. "Oh God. Sam. So good."

Sam shut him up with a kiss, probably wise, and stretched his legs around Dean's back, hooking them there. It was quick and so perfect, and all Dean could do was live in the moment, the sensation of skin on skin, their bodies as close as they could get.

They came wrapped up in each other, Sam panting into his neck as Dean bit off a shout. After a moment of bliss they laid there together, boneless. His nerves were almost completely nonexistent; China could probably wage all-out war, and he wouldn't react.

"Shouldn't you be getting back soon?"

Sam glanced lazily at his clothes, strewn across the floor. "Probably."

"See you on the flipside."

The other man snorted a laugh, gathering his clothes and dressing quickly. Catering supplies in hand, he donned his hat with an over-dramatic flourish. "Mr. Winchester. Sincerest thanks for your assistance."

Dean was smiling cheek to cheek, trying to button his dress shirt without bursting into laughter. "My pleasure."

Castiel entered his tent just after Sam had left, a flush adorning his cheeks. He looked worried, though not at all concerned to see Dean without his jacket on. "Where's Sam?"

"Why do you think I know?"

"Gabriel says he's not in his tent." Castiel said, narrowing his eyes. "You didn't see him?"

"No. Tell Gabriel he's too short to do a thorough search and to look again."

Castiel looked at him suspiciously, already halfway out of the tent. "Who was that earlier?"

Dean plastered on a noncommittal expression. "Caterer. Wanted help with the menus or something."

This seemed to convince the lieutenant. He pointed at Dean, a scary expression on his face. "Don't. _Move_."

"Yes sir."

* * *

Gabriel was tapping his watch as he stood outside of Sam's tent, feeling his blood pressure rise as the seconds ticked by. A breathless Castiel finally reached him, skittering to a stop in front of the tent. His suit was a little rumpled, as did his hair, but the look was good on him. "Well?"

"He says he didn't see Sam, and that you should check again." Castiel said, heaving. He bent over, hands on his knees as he tried to breathe. "Check the tent again."

Gabriel narrowed his eyes. "I already did. Ten times."

"Do it again."

The smaller lieutenant muttered under his breath, grabbing the tent flap and ripping it open. There sat Sam in his suit, a bored look on his face. _Inferno_ sat on his lap, open to the 2nd canto. "Hey Gabe. Almost time?"

"Wh-wh-" Gabriel sputtered, aghast. He turned to Castiel, who looked shocked. "Tell me you're seeing this!"

"I did not inspect the tent earlier." Castiel admitted. He glanced at Gabriel. "Perhaps you didn't look well enough."

Gabriel felt himself turn a vicious shade of red. He pointed at Sam, drawing in a huge breath, ready to shout. Innocent puppy eyes met his, and he knew there was no way out of this. He deflated instantly. "...yeah. We're almost ready."

Sam smiled, setting down his book. "Great. I was getting bored."

"Sure." Gabriel turned to shoo away Castiel, finding the space beside him empty. The other man was already twenty feet away, on his way to arrange Dean's...whatever. "Time to go get set up."

Neither man had any living, close family at the wedding. That fact hadn't slipped by Castiel, who remarked often to Gabriel that it was saddening. This was remedied by having Bobby walk Sam down the aisle, Benny and Gabriel and Castiel as the best men, and Ruby, Jess and Meg as the bridesmaids.

The section of the park where the ceremony was occurring was awesome, even by Gabriel's standards. A low, wide creek spanned a wild field of flowers and grasses, edged in by ancient trees and willows. The aisle led up adjacent to the stream, set ablaze by the magnificence of afternoon sun. White chairs formed two aisles, a small section cleared away for Sam and Dean to stand. The pastor was already there, setting up his notes.

"Why don't you go look at the river?" Gabriel suggested to Sam, who rolled his eyes and walked a few steps away. He held his hand out to the Father. "Pastor Jim."

"Gabriel." The man's eyes crinkled as he shook his hand, a smile cracking his face. "What a lovely day for a wedding, no?"

He thought back to his horrific hangover and adjusted his sunglasses. "It's certainly...bright."

The pastor laughed, the noise rumbling pleasantly through the open field. "When are you having people sit down?"

"Any second now." Gabriel said, remembering the radio clipped to his belt. "Excuse me, I have to make a call."

"Of course. I'll go wrangle Samuel from that weeping willow."

Gabriel followed his finger and saw Sam toeing at a willow near the shore, dangerously close to staining his pristine suit. "Thanks, Padre."

Castiel radioed in that he had Dean, so Gabriel gave the all-call to let the guests sit down. Soon, the area was chock full of people, assassins and civilians intermingling as they sat down, all eyes searching for the two fiancees. Pastor Jim had wisely whisked Sam behind a nearby gazebo, the two of them talking pleasantly over an open bible.

"Ready?" Castiel's voice buzzed over the radio. "Dean is in place."

Gabriel picked up his radio and pressed the talk button, taking a deep breath. "I think we're ready. Get him up front and I'll get Sam and Bobby ready."

"Okay. Good luck."

This was going to work, he reminded himself. This was going to be perfect.

* * *

Sam felt his hands tremble a little as he stood under the gazebo with Bobby, unsure of what to do or say. Dozens of feet ahead, the masses were a body of noise-people talking, cheering and singing with each other, chatting and looking backwards. A distant speck was all he could make out of the pastor now. He couldn't see Dean. For some reason, that troubled him.

Bobby coughed next to him, still awaiting their signal. He was wearing a nice black suit, well-tailored and complemented by a silk vest. His hair was even slicked back, uncharacteristic of the usually frazzled doctor. He glanced at Sam with knowing eyes. "You alright, boy?"

"You ever get married?" Sam blurted out, then glanced at the doctor's hand in embarrassment. A gold ring sat there, untarnished by the years. "I mean. Like a wedding."

Singer huffed a laugh, shaking his head fondly. "Yeah, I got married. Was a helluva long time ago, but I remember being nervous too."

"I'm not nervous."

"Sure you ain't." Bobby smiled at him, nodding as the radio chimed in his pocket. "I think that's our cue."

Sam grabbed his arm and stepped onto the grass, grateful for the color of his suit as the sun hit their backs. "Okay. Okay."

"It's worth it." Singer said cryptically as they began their march towards the wedding. "No matter how scared you are; it's worth it, and you won't believe you were nervous after it happens. Because you'll be too happy."

Sam nodded slowly. Bobby's hands tightened at his arm, and he smiled. "Thanks. I think you're right."

"I'm always right. You two idjits just don't realize it."

The two of them chuckled together, approaching the creek at a steady pace. Sam began to hear music. Their guests were polite and didn't take pictures, but he saw a few hands point as they walked down the aisle. Sam took a deep breath and looked ahead, straight to Dean.

The other man looked radiant in a dark suit, blonde hair gelled back, effortless in his perfection. He stood straight with his arms crossed in parade rest, Castiel and Gabriel and Benny in similar positions behind him. Ruby and Jess and Meg waved at him from his side, their smiles bigger than their faces. His attention quickly swung back to Dean.

Suddenly, Bobby was handing him off to the other boss, a quick murmur of support in his ear. Dean grabbed his hand firmly and didn't let go, the flecks of gold in his eyes all Sam could see.

Pastor Jim started after a long, sweet minute, his deep voice ringing out. "We are gathered here today to celebrate the joining of two families and two people. Sam Wesson and Dean Winchester. I…."

* * *

Sam was impossible to wrench his eyes away from in white. The wedding guests were just as captivated as Dean was, because he knew the eyes weren't on him. The younger man was smiling sweetly, his healthy tan skin and hazel eyes the picture of youth. Dean clasped their hands together and looked skyward, watching the blue expanse behind Sam's head.

Pastor Jim spoke for quite a while, but the only part Dean tore his eyes away from Sam were for his vows. Even then, all he did was grab the paper from his pocket, reluctant to let even one hand leave Sam's grasp. "Okay. I, uh. Okay."

_Here goes nothing_ he thought. Sam's eyes were depthless, and Dean swam in them for a moment, gathering strength. "I love you."

The crowd chuckled as he paused, letting it sink in. Dean looked down at his vows, nervous again. "No, I really do. Sometimes I don't think I say it enough. I love you Sam. You're the best thing that ever happened to me."

The paper fluttered in his hands, and though he could see the printed words, it was like he was blind. Dean looked up at Sam, taking a breath. "I have a lot of bad habits. I drink. Sometimes I smoke. I curse a fucking lot."

The crowd laughed again, Sam joining them. Dean smiled, addressing them. "I know, right? You're probably all standing there, wondering how someone like me deserves Sam. To tell you the truth….I don't think I do."

Sam frowned, a small crease forming between his eyes. Dean just smiled reassuringly, squeezing his hands. "You're so kind, and so patient. You're thoughtful and caring when I forget. You hold the respect of every person in this room, me most of all." Dean took a deep breath, feeling tears prick his eyes. "I don't think I deserve you. But I'll fight for you every minute of every day. I will fight for you forever."

Sam's mouth opened slightly, saying nothing. Dean smiled at him, pausing as the pastor said a few things. The audience quieted as they waited for Sam to begin his vows, watching.

"I love you too," Sam said after a long moment, so quiet only those in the first few rows heard. "Ditto to everything you said."

Dean waited for more, only to get a teasing smile from Sam. "Not that I'm complaining….but you don't have more?"

"I love you more than anything. And I will fight beside you for the rest of my life." Sam said simply, shrugging fluidly. "What else do I have to say? I love you, you big dork. And I want to be yours forever."

The crowd laughed as Dean gaped, the pastor cutting in smoothly. Sam's smile was like the hardest drug, scooping out all of his fear, replacing it with something akin to peace. He tugged Sam closer to him as the final procedures were met. Suddenly the pastor began congratulating them, and Dean knew this was their moment.

He quirked an eyebrow at Sam. "Last chance to back out?"

"I'm not eloping, if that's what you're asking." Sam said, pouting at him. Dean laughed, tugging him in for a kiss.

Sam smiled, kissing back for a long moment. The crowd erupted behind them, but all he could see was his... _husband._ Husband. "And you said you wanted a small wedding."

"You're being mean," Sam said over the deafening cheers. "You're not allowed to be mean to your husband."

Dean pulled him in for a dramatic kiss, swooping Sam over backwards. "Bitch."

His husband was grinning ear to ear, everything absolutely perfect in that moment.

"Jerk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N More soon? Reviews are love:)


	26. The Dog Days Are Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean are married, and are celebrating the hell out of it. Of course, reality likes to rear its ugly little head now and then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Sorry for the long break. I'm back with another longer story arc though, so fear not. Regular updates are on their way again.
> 
> For LeeMarieJack, who would've wanted to see this story completed a long time ago.

_**Before** _

_"You're so kind, and so patient. You're thoughtful and caring when I forget. You hold the respect of every person in this room, me most of all." Dean took a deep breath, feeling tears prick his eyes. "I don't think I deserve you. But I'll fight for you every minute of every day. I will fight for you forever."_

_Sam's mouth opened slightly, saying nothing. Dean smiled at him, pausing as the pastor said a few things. The audience quieted as they waited for Sam to begin his vows, watching._

_"I love you too," Sam said after a long moment, so quiet only those in the first few rows heard. "Ditto to everything you said."_

_Dean waited for more, only to get a teasing smile from Sam. "Not that I'm complaining….but you don't have more?"_

_"I love you more than anything. And I will fight beside you for the rest of my life." Sam said simply, shrugging fluidly. "What else do I have to say? I love you, you big dork. And I want to be yours forever."_

_The crowd laughed as Dean gaped, the pastor cutting in smoothly. Sam's smile was like the hardest drug, scooping out all of his fear, replacing it with something akin to peace. He tugged Sam closer to him as the final procedures were met. Suddenly the pastor began congratulating them, and Dean knew this was their moment._

_He quirked an eyebrow at Sam. "Last chance to back out?"_

_"I'm not eloping, if that's what you're asking." Sam said, pouting at him. Dean laughed, tugging him in for a kiss._

_Sam smiled, kissing back for a long moment. The crowd erupted behind them, but all he could see was his...husband. Husband. "And you said you wanted a small wedding."_

_"You're being mean," Sam said over the deafening cheers. "You're not allowed to be mean to your husband."_

_Dean pulled him in for a dramatic kiss, swooping Sam over backwards. "Bitch."_

_His husband was grinning ear to ear, everything absolutely perfect in that moment._

_"Jerk."_

* * *

_**Now** _

The large row of tents that held the reception seemed ethereal in the twilight. White curtains billowed in every direction, reflecting the glow of lanterns that burned every few feet. A hush had fallen over the nature preserve, broken by a laugh there, or a shout in greeting. Maybe a gun shot or two. He wasn't counting.

Dean couldn't stop staring at their joined hands, straining to catch the glint of Sam's ring every few moments. His husband-and wasn't that a strange phrase-was even more beautiful in the evening light, his teeth just a glint of white, his gaze deeper than ever before.

He caught Dean's roving eyes more than once, tightening their hands as they waded through the crowds of well-wishers and family, thanking and being thanked in return. The night seemed to swirl around them, transformed into light and voices and the warmth of their hands, still clasped together.

"Is this what it's like to be king?" Gabriel quipped next to him what seemed like hours later. They were watching yet another mob boss with tenuous connections attempt to impress them. He had a firm hand around Castiel's shoulders. "Because I'd like to try it out one day. You know, if you guys need a "me" day, or whatever."

Sam raised an eyebrow at his lieutenant, taking a flask out of his pocket. He waved it at a group of men by the tent before taking a drink. "By all means. Go entertain the Ukrainian mafiosos. I heard they're fun at a party..."

"Oh? And you'd know that how?"

The taller man grinned darkly. "Tequila shots. Lots of tequila shots."

"Who even invited them?" Dean broke in, glancing at Castiel. He felt his metaphorical haunches rise as one of the mafiosos winked at Sam. "Because I sure as hell didn't. This isn't a free bar, damn it."

Sam sent him a pouty look. "I'd drink them under the table _anyway.._."

"Are you tipsy?" Dean said to Sam, who shrugged, which was an answer in and of itself. "Cas, Gabe, what-"

Castiel straightened, knocking into a tent pole with a muttered curse. "Oh, look at the time! I think you two are needed at the head table. Right, Gabriel?"

Gabriel frowned, not catching on. He turned away from the Ukrainians slowly. "What?"

" _Speeches_ ," Castiel hissed, elbowing him. "Remember?"

"By God, the speeches!" Gabriel said, latching onto Sam's elbow. "How could I forget? To the table!"

Dean smiled as Sam stumbled slightly, stifling something that sounded like a giggle. Gabriel hurried them to the front of an extravagant table, seating them with a quick push. The rest of the party quickly found their seats, a sea of familiar faces filling the tent. He waved to Jo and Benny a few tables over, then to a beaming Meg and Ruby. Jo had a twin, Benny handling the other with a bemused smile. Sam caught his eye with a knowing look.

"Greetings, everybody!" Gabriel said ostentatiously, dipping over the microphone in a bow. His voice boomed through the tent. "If you didn't already know-which you totally should-I'm Gabe, this is Cas. We're not letting any of you motherfuckers near this microphone, so good luck trying to top this speech!"

Castiel jumped as Gabriel slapped him on the back, looking less than enthusiastic when the microphone was passed to him. "What Gabriel means to say is-we have the _pleasure_ of giving the speeches for tonight, and have worked _very hard_ to make them _accurate_ and _respectful._ "

"Oh, Christ."

Next to him, Sam took a long draw out of his flask. Dean thwapped him on the shoulder, only to smile when it was passed his way. The crowd dissolved into hesitant laughter, watching the duo carefully. Gabriel stepped up first.

"Sam. Buddy."

"Whoah, and that's enough…" Sam said next to him, mouthing something awful to his lieutenant. When that didn't work, he drew a hand across his neck with a glare. "Please stop."

"Sam," Gabriel continued, either unable to hear him or unable to care. "I've known you for, like, forever. Like, as long as forever would be if it was really like one year and change. But don't worry, 'cause you made an impression, like, right away!"

Sam winced next to him, reminding Dean. He patted his husband's back, rubbing his shoulders as Gabriel stumbled down the stage.

"You're calm and you're smart but you're also really badass, like, all of the time. If there was someone I wanted to like, run the government or, like, the CIA, or something, it would be you."

"And Dean." The crowd fell silent, "To be honest, the first time I met you, you thought I was Sam _and_ you were an asshole. Which was okay until you tried to punch Actual-Sam in the face. Then you shot Sam and fell into a river together."

"He shot me too!" Dean called out, getting a couple hoots from the crowd. Jo coughed. "Why does no one fucking bring _that_ up, huh? Sa-"

Sam yanked him back into his seat by his elbow, getting a playful kiss in return as Dean almost fell into his lap. Gabriel smiled down at them, flashing Sam a thumbs up.

"No, really, it was sweet. My man Sam saved the night-" he held a finger up as Dean tried to protest, "-and then you saved his ass from the Italians and John Wick-ed the fuck out of them with a desk lamp, ultimately saving the day. So, you are also awesome, just grumpier. And we all love you guys a lot! We're actually surprised you got married, though, cause you're totally the eloping type..."

Behind him, he could hear Ruby and Benny exchanging money for the umpteenth time, the words _not too late_ and _Las Vegas_ catching his attention. Dean turned around, glaring at the pair. Jo winked at Dean and hit Benny on the arm, who had no choice but to take it.

Gabriel had found a large flute of champagne, managing to hold it in a way that looked sleazy. He held it to the sky. "To Sam and Dean!"

The crowd applauded loudly as Gabriel handed off the microphone to Castiel and attempted to crowdsurf away, only getting one or two people deep into the crowd before he fell ungracefully into someone's lap.

Castiel looked momentarily floored clutching the microphone. Finally, crisp blue eyes settled on the newlyweds. "Dean,"

Dean's hand tightened semi-consciously on Sam's as his lieutenant began speaking, his heart thudding in his throat. Sam squeezed back, grinning softly. "Yeah, Cas." He rumbled softly.

"I've had the pleasure-the honor-of being your lieutenant for many years now," Castiel swallowed, ducking his head briefly. The crowd was absolutely silent. "I've seen you at times of great stress and at times of peace. I saw you when you first took pity on me, a long time ago, when I was perhaps not so deserving of it."

Sam's eyes widened a little. He stared at Dean, who seemed on the verge of tears, if it were possible. A quick smile seemed to settle his husband-the message was far from _man up_ _already,_ or _you're crying?_ It said _Be proud. And I love you._

"You have led this organization into success and you have done it with a fair hand. You chose an equal, and a man I am also honored to serve." Castiel continued, raising his glass in a slightly shaky hand. "So. To Sam and Dean, and to many happy returns!"

The crowd raised their glasses, shouting various toasts as the lieutenant ducked off the stage. The music came back on, glaringly loud, but Sam tuned it out, turning to Dean. The other man was pale.

"Dean?"

Green eyes met his after a second, suspiciously dry. "Like his speech?"

"It was amazing," Sam said honestly, leaning a shoulder into his partner. "Don't tell me you're getting all choked up? It's only a wedding."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "It's not too late to annul this marriage, or whatever. I could have the paperwork here in an hour."

"Did you have to look that word up?" Sam teased, trying to brush Dean's hair out of his face and getting a bitten finger for his troubles. "Ow!"

"I think we should get ridiculously drunk." Dean told him seriously, grabbing his neck and dragging him forward. "Then we won't have to make excuses. We earned it, after all."

"Excus-" Sam yelped as a hand pinched his ass, jumping. "Dean!"

He stood them up, dragging them to a small crowd forming by the bar. "I'm not sitting here all night like it's a normal wedding. Fuck that."

Sam gasped as he was thrown into a chair, the crowd quickly converging around them. Dean sat across from him, a vicious look on his face. "Uh oh," he said, remembering the game he and Cas had played once upon a time.

"Scared, Sammy?" Dean looked positively devilish in the low light. Ellen began placing shot glasses down in front of them. Sam shook his head.

"Never." He said fiercely, staring him face to face. Dean smirked after a second, tilting his head.

"Loser tosses a piece of clothing."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Ready to get naked, old man?"

The crowd roared at the jibe, and Sam swallowed a fission of fear as Dean glared at him. He took the first shot at the whistle, sighing internally as the liquid raced down his throat.

* * *

Alfie sat at his mostly-empty table with a glass of champagne in hand, watching fondly as the two newlyweds got off to a great start-if a great start was fighting to see who could drink the most. He watched from afar for signs of alcohol poisoning, his profession not forgotten as the night went on. He wondered vaguely if Sam was replacing his dressings every day, unable to see them under the suit. Then he stopped himself from worrying.

"Doctor,"

Alfie startled as someone sat down next to him, moving to stand. He was surprised to see Dean's lieutenant-Cas?-next to him, blue eyes clear of any alcohol. "Lieutenant."

"Please, call me Castiel." the other man smiled at him, the expression not entirely unsettling. He crossed his legs gracefully. "You're probably wondering about your invitation to tonight's event."

Alfie shrugged. "I don't make it a habit to attend patients' functions outside of the hospital. I just like to see them healthy."

Castiel smiled wryly. "And they're undoubtedly ruining all your good work, no?"

They watched as Sam bested Dean in another round, the two men standing and crashing into each other, laughing so hard they could barely breathe as Sam tore away Dean's jacket. Gabriel was seated above them, a proud look on his face. "Just a little. No one's thrown up yet."

Alfie startled again as a small black case slid under his hand. When he looked up Castiel was gone, a rumpled napkin the only sign he'd been there. "Wait-"

He closed his eyes, wondering again why he'd bothered showing up. One day in a hospital with Sam and Dean and everything was cloak and dagger. Christ.

He opened the black box with a sigh, his hand stilling as he pulled away the top. A slim black key sat in the center of the package, a small note attached.

_For the cellphone. Many thanks._

_-S &D_

Alfie frowned, lifting it gingerly. Nothing else was in the box. He stood and exited the tent, walking towards the parking lot. He pressed the unlock button, watching a Porsche 911 flash to life across the lot.

"No way," Alfie said to himself, dumbfounded. "No fucking way."

* * *

The media was still burning the midnight oil as 3 a.m came and went, clamouring at the fence line for just one shot, one scandalous pose. Per Lillith and Rufus, they got nowhere near the party, but the flash of the cameras and lights was annoying.

"Can't we, I don't know, clear them out?" Gabriel asked him around 4:30, more than a little tipsy, but not drunk, as he'd promised. "Lead them away somewhere? I could call up my friend in the press, leak a story about Tom Cruise somewhere nearby."

Castiel shook his head, taking the quick break to smoke, staring across the nature preserve as dawn threatened to creep in. "Are Sam and Dean still awake?"

"Partying uproariously," Gabriel said, stumbling through the word. Castiel peeked inside the tent, spotting Sam in Dean's lap, braiding the taller man's hair as a group of lower level mobsters giggled around them, offering hair ties. "Any idea where their honeymoon is yet? No one will tell me."

Castiel shrugged. "Me neither."

"Really?"

Castiel levelled him with a glare, gaining his silence a second later. "I'm not sure they're having one at all."

"What?"

One of the Ukrainian mafiosos shouted something, drawing their attention away for a moment. They seemed even drunker than Winchester and Wesson, save for one at the back of the group. It was the man who'd winked at Sam earlier. Castiel frowned, staring at him for longer than necessary.

"What is it?"

"You checked everyone on the way in, right?" He asked, slowly circling the group so they wouldn't see him. "Metal detectors, bag checks?"

"Of course," Gabriel said, eyes wide. He followed Castiel's gaze to the mobster, eyes narrowing. "Is that what I think it is?"

They both looked at a suspicious bulge at the man's hip again, second-guessing each other. "Maybe it's something he stuffed in his pocket." Gabriel said amicably. "Right?"

Castiel stopped circling, walking purposefully towards the group. "I'm checking it, and then I'm kicking him out."

"We're on friendly terms with the Ukrainians, though!"

"I don't _care_ ," he said, glancing desperately at Sam and Dean. They were close to dozing now, eyes hooded as they sat in each other's arms. "Back me up. _Now_."

Gabriel followed him silently as he approached the group, a fake smile plastered across both of their faces. Castiel broke into the group, laughing along in Ukrainian as the men startled at the intrusion.

"Ми веселимося, панове?" Castiel laughed as one of the men almost fell on him, darting out of the way. The man they'd spotted was still standing at the back, not alarmed. "My friend, why aren't you drinking? It's a wedding, you should enjoy yourself."

The man paled as Castiel drew closer, backed up by Gabriel, who was only slightly less intimidating. He struggled to smile. "I don't know what you mean," he said in heavily-accented English.

"Let us get you a drink," Castiel said, slinging an arm over the man's shoulders. "You look sad."

He felt surreptitiously down the man's side, heart beating a mile a minute as he felt something hard in the man's pocket. _Ceramic. Of course._

Before he had a chance to map it further, the Ukrainian struck his hand away.

"Don't touch me!"

Castiel held his hands out. "Show me what's in your pocket, friend, and we'll go."

The rest of the room didn't notice the growing tension, still surrounding Sam and Dean. Good. It was protection, at the very least-more bodies to shoot through. Castiel just hoped he didn't know most of them.

"No." the Ukrainian said shakily, stepping away from his fellow mobsters. They looked confused-probably not in on it. So why was this one? "I don't want to hurt you, Castiel."

"But you're here to hurt others," he replied in clipped Ukrainian, his eyes fierce. Gabriel reached for his gun, only to remember it was on his dresser. No guns at the wedding, they'd agreed. If only.

The Ukrainian smiled, lopsided, then grabbed for his pocket. Castiel dove on top of him with a shout, and all hell broke loose.

* * *

Sam and Dean heard the gunshot at the same time, stumbling to their feet as the crowds parted. A large mass of people flooded their way, obscuring had happened. Sam felt a hand grab his and was suddenly on the ground, pressed against the DJ booth for cover.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked him hurriedly, eyes trying to focus over the crowd. They were both too drunk to even stand. Sam felt a faint horror wash over him as he realized neither of them had guns. "Sam!"

"M'fine." Sam said, rolling to his side. He inched past the booth, spotting two figures locked in a fight. "It's Cas. Dean, it's Cas."

He had to stop Dean from leaping over the booth, grabbing his foot and yanking hard. His husband landed next to him with a glare on his face. "What the hell?"

"We can't help them," Sam said, pressing him against the booth. "Stay here. Gabriel will take care of this, I promise."

Sam felt himself biting his tongue as the man got the best of Castiel, kneeing him in the stomach twice before whipping him across the head with the gun. The lieutenant was bleeding badly, one eye already swelling shut. The man swung Castiel forward, placing the gun against his temple. Dean hissed next to him, eyes filled with fury.

"I want Winchester and Wesson standing up now, or I shoot your lieutenant."

Dean stood immediately. He swayed on his feet, dismayed. Gabriel was a crumpled mess on the floor, Castiel's one good eye darting that way every few seconds. The other Ukrainians had fled, leaving the man alone.

"What do you want?" Dean asked boldly, hands shaking at his side. His gaze flicked to Castiel. "Money? Weapons? Drugs?"

The man gazed solemnly at him, lifting the gun. " _This_."

The shot deafened him, seconded only by the burning pain in his shoulder. Castiel elbowed the man in the face and took his gun, shooting him through the eye. Dean felt a wave of relief as he looked down at his shoulder, seeing only a graze. They were okay. Cas was alive.

"Cas, you okay?"

Castiel turned a moaning Gabriel to his side, glancing up at Dean. His black hair was mussed beyond recognition, framing panicked blue eyes. His face turned white. "Dean."

"What?" He looked behind him, confused. His fumbling hand hit flesh, and the world seemed to drop out from beneath him.

Sam was holding his chest, cherry-red blood dripping from his mouth. Red was erupting across his stomach, leaching the color from his skin. He wavered on his feet, listing towards Dean. Sam smiled as their eyes locked, lips pale.

"Dean…"

Dean caught him as the taller man fell, horror washing over him. Sam convulsed in his hands, choking on the blood, blood everywhere, red on his hands, his legs, their rings…


	27. Seven Devils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone in the Winchester-Wesson household is down for the count, which means Alfie has to deal with everything. Including a nosy cop who seems to have a strange obsession with Sam and Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Thanks for all the comments and PMs. Here's another chapter for you!

_**Before** _

" _I want Winchester and Wesson standing up now, or I shoot your lieutenant."_

_Dean stood immediately. He swayed on his feet, dismayed. Gabriel was a crumpled mess on the floor, Castiel's one good eye darting that way every few seconds. The other Ukrainians had fled, leaving the man alone._

" _What do you want?" Dean asked boldly, hands shaking at his side. His gaze flicked to Castiel. "Money? Weapons? Drugs?"_

_The man gazed solemnly at him, lifting the gun. "This."_

_The shot deafened him, seconded only by the burning pain in his shoulder. Castiel elbowed the man in the face and took his gun, shooting him through the eye. Dean felt a wave of relief as he looked down at his shoulder, seeing only a graze. They were okay. Cas was alive._

" _Cas, you okay?"_

_Castiel turned a moaning Gabriel to his side, glancing up at Dean. His black hair was mussed beyond recognition, framing panicked blue eyes. His face turned white. "Dean."_

" _What?" He looked behind him, confused. His fumbling hand hit flesh, and the world seemed to drop out from beneath him._

_Sam was holding his chest, cherry-red blood dripping from his mouth. Red was erupting across his stomach, leaching the color from his skin. He wavered on his feet, listing towards Dean. Sam smiled as their eyes locked, lips pale._

" _Dean…"_

_Dean caught him as the taller man fell, horror washing over him. Sam convulsed in his hands, choking on the blood, blood everywhere, red on his hands, his legs, their rings…._

* * *

_**Now** _

All Sam could do was stare as the bodies and voices surrounded him, shocked into numbness, or something much worse. His hands were pushed away roughly, his protests unable to be voiced.

_Dean._

The wound burned icily, throbbing with every heartbeat. He struggled to look down at his chest, hands and voices forcing him to look up, to look away. He wasn't an idiot. He saw the red, saw the blood on his hands, on Dean's fingers as they pressed his head back, shaking slightly.

"Stay with us, Sam. C'mon, buddy."

"Where's the goddamned ambulance?"

Sam spotted Dean's shoulder, sheathed in red, and wanted to argue. _He needs an ambulance too._ He looked up at the ceiling in vain, watching people leave the tent in a hurry. _Well, if you really needed a room cleared quickly, you could have asked first. I would have stripped, or something…_

His thoughts started slipping right before the ambulance arrived, darting in and out of coherence as black spots enveloped his vision. He saw an officer running towards him, only for him to be at his side a second later. His nametag read _Milligan._ Sam watched him, entranced as the man's lips curled into a quick smile-too fast to be noticed by everyone else, they were busy hurrying and panicking-but Sam saw. Sam saw something a little bit like triumph in those eyes. He shuddered in Dean's arms, trying to find his husband. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe-

"Sam. Sam, it's going to be okay…"

He felt Dean's hands around his face and stilled, letting unconsciousness take him.

* * *

Castiel struggled to remain on his feet as the first responders arrived, trying in vain to tie a bandage around Dean's shoulder. The boss was close to inconsolable, refusing to leave Sam's side. Cas saw with some relief that Gabriel had found Singer and Alfie in the crowd, moving so they could get through. The Ukrainian was carefully moved behind the stage, safely hidden for the time being.

"Dean, they're doctors. Let them see Sam." Castiel murmured in Dean's ear, watching tears well up in the other man's eyes. "Dean. Listen to me. Sam is going to die if you don't let them through."

Dean moved so he sat behind Sam's head, cradling it gently. He whispered quietly in Sam's ear, struggling to remain calm for the sake of his panicking husband. Sam was choking on blood, trying to draw air into lungs that couldn't function.

The sound of it horrified Castiel on a level he couldn't describe. He backed away, hands shaking. Alfie and Singer looked grave but determined, moving seamlessly around their patient.

"GSW to the upper abdomen," Singer murmured, ripping his bag open. He pulled out a large padded bandage, pressing it roughly into Sam's chest. The brown haired man gasped, the sound cut off as blood flooded into his airways again. Dean bit off a growl, still murmuring to Sam. Castiel could only watch.

The first responders had finally entered, two paramedics and a patrol officer running their way at a dead sprint. They carried a backboard between them. Alfie and Singer transferred Sam to them as quickly as they could, lifting him onto the backboard with an ease born of practice, not strength.

"What happened?" The cop asked Dean, turning to Castiel when he didn't get an answer. "Sir?"

"Get off me," Dean mumbled, shoving the cop away from him. He stumbled after Sam as the paramedics rolled him away. "...Cas…"

Castiel ducked under his shoulder, supporting him as they limped after the paramedics. Gabriel gave him a quick wave, the skin around his eye swelling considerably as something was communicated between them. It was all he could manage.

"Are you two family?" one of the responders asked, lifting the bed into the ambulance. Dean looked dazed.

"I'm his...husband."

Castiel let Dean go, watching him leap into the bucket seat. With a wave of dizziness, he watched the ambulance speed out of the parking lot.

A hand grabbed his shoulder. He didn't have enough energy to even think about fighting back, turning to see Alfie, soaked up to his elbows in blood. He held a car key in his hand.

"Follow me."

* * *

The Porsche 911 raced behind the ambulance, making up speed in no time. Alfie drove, Castiel's hands shaking too much to even hold a pencil. They broke a thousand traffic laws, weaving in and out of traffic, racing past red lights as they kept up with the ambulance.

Alfie let Castiel off at the ER, leaving to park the car. The lieutenant raced inside, teetering to a stop within the waiting room. It was eerily empty at five fifteen in the morning. He stumbled towards the only occupied desk, startling the clerk.

Kind eyes looked up at him.

"Sir, are you okay?"

Castiel glanced down at his sleeves, finding them a dark burgundy.

"Most of this...isn't mine…"

"Sir," the woman moved around the desk, pressing a button under the shelf. "Sir, can you-"

" _Listen to me,_ " he growled, stumbling into the desk as the room spun. "I'm looking for a patient who was just brought in here...his name is Sa…"

The room lurched, and everything turned a nauseous shade of grey. His head hit the ground with a _crack,_ and everything went black.

* * *

Gabriel stood over the deceased Ukrainian, pressing the phone to his ear. He shushed the chaos around him, trying desperately to hear. After a moment he nodded and shut the phone, closing his eyes wearily.

"Well?"

Singer stood there, joined by Jo, Benny, Meg and Ruby. They wore the same look of worry, faces pale. The twins were oddly silent, eyes glassy. Gabriel crossed his arms, face grim.

"Alfie said Sam just went into surgery. Dean's okay, just a couple stitches, but they had to sedate him. Castiel went into surgery too."

"Castiel?" Ruby whispered. "Why?"

"Fractured eye socket, they said." Gabriel's lips twitched into a bitter smile. "I'm heading down to County in five minutes. Between now and then, we need to figure out what to do about the Ukrainians. Specifically this shmucky-piece of dog shit."

He kicked the dead assailant again and again, watching as the man's body twitched and lurched across the ground. Blood and brain matter smeared the grass. "You better be fucking glad you're dead. Sonuvabitch."

Gabriel looked up, rubbing blood off his boot. He caught Benny's eye and pointed. "We told the cops he ran after he shot Sam. So...String this bastard up in Madison garden. I don't care who sees. Put a bounty on the Ukrainians' heads, one mil for all of them alive. Now."

Benny nodded and handed one of the twins to Jo, exiting quickly. She looked at Ruby, who carefully shifted one onto her shoulder. Meg patted the baby's back distantly, eyes looking beyond the tent and its occupants.

"I'll drive," Singer offered, pointing towards the parking lot. Gabriel shrugged and followed, watching from a distance as Benny returned with six other men, surrounding the body. "Gabriel."

Gabriel looked up, finding himself in the passenger's seat. "What?"

"It's going to be okay."

The lieutenant paused, looking out the window.

"I know."

* * *

Dean woke up in the infirmary back at the warehouse. He spent a second trying to figure out how he got there, battling against a haze of painkillers. The stitches in his shoulder pulled as he shifted, making him wince. He looked up. The room was empty. No Sam.

Castiel entered through the doorway a second later, a bright bandage wrapped around his left eye. He looked shaken as he spotted him. "Dean."

"Where's Sam?"

"The hospital. They're bringing him here in less than an hour. We can't leave him out there, not when we don't know who's after him."

Castiel put a hand out as he tried to leave, wavering slightly as he did so. "Dean-"

"He was _shot,_ I have to go see him-"

"You've been sedated for three days." Castiel told him sternly. "You made your shoulder worse trying to punch the ER staff. They put you out for surgery, so sit down before you lose the use of your left hand."

Dean paused, moving his shoulder experimentally. It was safely ensconced in a sling, but the piece of fabric didn't do much. Blinding pain ripped through him as he tried to rotate it forward. " _Christ._ What happened?"

"Sam's stable, he's out of the ICU today. The bullet went straight through, no damage to any organs. He was lucky."

Dean felt the room spin and found a seat on one of the empty infirmary beds. "I need to see him."

"You need to rest."

"I'm not waiting here like some episode of Grey's Anatomy! I know getting shot is serious!"

Castiel sat down next to him, gasping painfully. Dean stared at him. "What's wrong with you?"

"Fractured eye socket, broken ribs…" Castiel swallowed with obvious pain, ducking his head. "I guess we let them get the best of us, _nyet_?"

Dean felt a deep-seated wave of anger roll through him, clenching his fists. "What have you done with him?"

"Who?"

"The Ukrainian."

Castiel shifted back into the pillows. "Gabriel hung him up in Madison garden. He put a bounty on the rest of the Ukrainians."

"Dead?"

"Alive."

Dean relaxed slightly at that. "Good." He shook his head, trying to clear the haze. " _Christ._ I'm going to murder those _sonsofbitches-_ "

"We have a saying for moments like these," Castiel murmured, uncharacteristically rambling. He cut Dean off with a wave. "Аво́сь да как-нибу́дь до добра́ не доведу́т."

"Meaning?"

The lieutenant snorted bitterly, shutting his eyes.

"Don't draw your bow until your arrow is fixed."

* * *

Alfie kept a careful watch over Sam's bedside, hating that he was one of the only ones who could do so. Gabriel had been in and out, traveling between the hospital and the infirmary with less than four hours of sleep at any given time. Right before the transfer they were alone, save for the two armed guards outside of the room.

Alfie sat in the plastic chair next to the bed, reading Sam's chart again. For all the blood he'd lost, the younger man seemed to have survived yet again. There were benefits to being young and healthy, that was for sure.

"Doctor?"

Alfie blushed, placing the chart down. The cop from before was standing in the doorway, eyebrows raised. Alfie stood gracelessly, slamming his knee into Sam's bed.

"No, I'm-well, I am a doctor, but I'm not treating Sam-" he ducked his head, unsettled as the man's expression seemed to turn irritated. "How can I help you, officer?"

"I was here to get a statement," the cop said, holding out a hand. "My name is Adam. Adam Milligan."

"Pleasure," Alfie said, wincing internally as the man's grip ground his hand. "I'm afraid I don't have much for a statement."

"You and everyone else who seems to know Wesson," Milligan said, quirking an eyebrow. Alfie smiled hesitantly. "I'll just have to go straight to the source."

"They're all unconscious right now, unfortunately." Alfie said, placing himself between the cop and Sam's bed. "Sorry."

"Right." Milligan smiled, nodding at Alfie. "See you later, Doctor. I never did get a name…"

Alfie smiled. "See you later, Officer."

He watched as Milligan left, something itching at the back of his mind as he glanced at Sam's unconscious face.

Not good.

* * *

Benny felt his phone buzz against his leg, pausing. Gabriel grunted ahead of him, irritated by the noise. "What is it?"

"Dean's awake." Benny read Meg's text aloud quickly. "Sam's back at the infirmary."

They paused as Gabriel exhaled through his nose, leaning against the wall. He adjusted his silencer. "Thank God."

"We're not leaving, are we?"

The lieutenant loaded his gun, bloodthirstiness flooding back into his gaze. "Of course not."

Benny turned towards the building, loading his own weapon. "Good. Because I'd really like to kill some people."

Gabriel glared at him. "When you say 'kill some people', you mean 'torture to the brink of death and then bring back to the warehouse', right?"

"I mean, I'd really like to torture the fuck out of some Ukrainians, sir."

The other man's smile split the darkness.

" _That's_ the spirit."

* * *

"Speak of the devil,"

Castiel and Dean turned to find Alfie standing in the doorway, shoulders set. Dean stood immediately, damn the dizziness that followed. "Is he okay?"

"He's coming out of the meds, should be awake soon." Alfie waved a pair of private EMTs through, watching carefully as Sam was wheeled into the infirmary. "Nice to see you awake, Dean. We have things to discuss."

"They can wait," Dean bit out, stumbling to Sam's bedside. "Damn, we keep ending up like this, don't we babe?"

Castiel and Alfie watched as the man spoke to Sam's unconscious form, cradling his hand. Singer joined them a second later, directing the EMTs as they set up the IVs and heart rate monitor. "He's stable, thank God."

"Good. I heard from the county doctors that it could have been so much worse." Alfie confessed, "I know it's cliche, but two or three milimeters to the left and it would have punctured a lung. Your Ukrainian must have had poor aim."

"Ceramic gun," Castiel muttered, accepting an ice pack from Singer with a grateful sigh. "We didn't catch it on the way in. But when you use ceramic prototypes, the aim is off…"

"Mr. Winchester,"

The room turned en masse as a figure appeared at the door. Alfie recognized one of Sam's men-Brady? Brody?-and stepped to the side to let him in. Dean glanced up warily.

"What?"

"There's an officer Milligan to see you from Chicago PD," Brady said, clasping his hands behind his back. "He's saying he'd like your statement, and Mr. Wesson's if he's awake."

Dean looked across at Alfie. "As far as that asshole's concerned, we're all in medically induced comas and this is private property."

 _Don't need to tell me twice,_ Alfie thought. "I'll get that thought across to him."

They left Dean curled protectively over Sam, allowing them a private moment. Singer pushed Castiel back into a private bed with little protest, handing him a bottle of pain meds on their way out. The two doctors shared a glance.

"So. You sticking around, kid?"

Alfie painfully ignored looking at his watch, grimacing. "Not sure I have a job left to return to as it is."

"I'm always looking for an assistant-actually, scratch that nonsense. You handled yourself well the last few days." Singer put a fatherly hand on his shoulder. "How about partner? It comes with the perks of dealing with those two, but it sure pays well."

Alfie blinked, floored. "I'd, uh, have to think about it, Dr. Singer, sir…"

"Call me Bobby," the man winked at him, restarting their climb up the stairs. "Everyone seems to forget my first name around here."

"I'm sure it's not out of spite, s-Bobby."

* * *

Alfie sighed to himself as they found Milligan pacing the foyer, bracing himself. He plastered a smile on his face, watching Singer-Bobby-do some high-quality glaring over his shoulder. "Mr. Milligan."

"It's Sergeant Milligan, actually." Adam shook his hand, pumping it exuberantly. "I won't waste your time, Doctor. I'm here with information."

That caught his attention. "How's that?"

"We found Mr. Wesson's assailant strung up in a park on the lower east side with his brains blown out. Looks like a mob killing."

Alfie shrugged. "I wouldn't know, officer."

"Of course. That dead end didn't bring up much, but there's been rumors."

Singer crossed his arms, blatantly glaring. "Like what?"

"That Wesson's shooting was ordered. From the inside."

Alfie frowned. "The inside of what?"

"What I'm sure Mr. Winchester would hesitate to call an 'organization' in the open court of law." Milligan shrugged, mouth quirking. "I would watch yourself, Doctor. Looks like you've got a mole."

"You know what they say about rumors," Singer said. "You can hear 'em, but you can't know 'em. Maybe you should verify your sources. Or question why you have them at all, _Officer_."

Milligan ignored the other man, smiling lukewarmly at Alfie. "I'll be back to retrieve their statements tomorrow. Make sure they're awake this time."

With that he left, leaving Alfie dumbfounded. He threw his hands up.

"Who do I look like, their butler?"

Singer raised an eyebrow. "Could have fooled me, _Alfred_."

* * *

Sam opened his eyes at four in the morning, almost two days after he'd shut them last. Dean was hovering over him, eyes searching his face. "Sam?"

"Who else?" He croaked, trying to laugh as Dean's frown level increased to mega one thousand. The action caused pain to bloom across his chest, turning the laugh into a low moan. Dean quickly stuffed a pillow behind his back, maneuvering him upwards. "T-thanks."

"How are you feeling?" Dean asked anxiously. He smacked himself with the hand that wasn't in a sling. "You probably want a rundown of what happened first, huh?"

"That would be nice, yeah."

"Okay," Dean took in a breath. "Crazy Ukrainian shot you, Castiel shot the Ukrainian, we went to the hospital, all three of us had surgery, then Alfie and Bobby pulled some strings and got us here. Oh, and Gabe hung the dead Ukrainian up like performance art in Madison gardens and may have eaten into our savings by putting a bounty up on the other Ukrainians' heads."

Sam gaped at him, trying to process. "Is that it?"

"Am I missing something?" Dean moved to smack himself again, stopped by a touch from Sam. "What?"

"Are you on drugs?"

"Actually, yes." Dean picked up an orange pill bottle and shook it. "Want some?"

Sam shifted, glancing at the medical equipment strapped to him. "Tempting, but I spot a morphine pump over there…"

Dean slammed his hand down on the red button, then hit it again for good measure. Sam felt and icy warmth travel down his IV, sighing. "Better?"

"You have no fucking clue."

Dean's cellphone chose that moment to go off, ruining whatever chance they had at making post-attempted murder conversation. He jabbed at it angrily. "What?"

"I've got a package coming your way in, say, two minutes. Want in?"

He actually had to think about it. "Can the package still speak?"

"Oh boy," he heard some muffled noises on the other end as Gabriel covered the receiver. "-the one with the throat puncture-"

"Just bring them and stop fucking calling me," Dean growled, hanging up. He turned to Sam, who looked high as a kite. His pupils were dilated. "What are you looking at?"

"The ceiling."

Dean followed his gaze, biting his lip. This was tough.

"I so wanna have honeymoon sex with you right now."

Sam smirked, the expression taking a while to form. "But?"

"I have to avenge your pretty little ass and explain to the authorities how your GSW came from someone who's no longer living." Dean considered this. "And who might have been murdered. Possibly by Castiel. But I'm omitting that last part."

"Tell them you're into gunplay and you got a little excited," Sam mumbled. "Always works, like, two-thirds of the time."

Dean patted Sam's head fondly, standing up. He heard Benny enter from the side door, dragging something heavy, and kissed Sam farewell.

"This is why I love you, babe."

Sam snorted. "Mphm."

* * *

Gabriel watched with barely-restrained glee as the three surviving Ukrainians were chained up, rubbing his hands together. Dean stood next to him, smoking a cigarette.

"I thought Sam banned those in the warehouse."

Dean grunted. "Sam's blissed out to high and holy heaven right now. He ain't remembering a thing."

"Can I have one?" Alfie asked from behind them. Dean turned, handing him one.

"Hell, when in Rome…" Gabriel took one as well, passing the lighter to Alfie. "Didn't take you for a smoker, Doctor."

"I picked the wrong week to quit sniffing glue," the other man quipped, drawing blank stares from both men. "Really? _Airplane_? You never watched _Airplane_?"

Dean spun on one heel, pointing at the men. "Let's get started!"

One of the Ukrainians chose that moment to piss his pants. Audibly. Castiel glared at Dean as he entered the room, wavering slightly on his feet.

"Who's cleaning that up, Dean?"

Dean puffed on his cigarette, considering. "Brady."

Brady gave him a WTF look from across the room, but wisely stayed silent. Castiel muttered something in Russian and stalked forward, grabbing the bone saw.

"Хто перший?"

* * *

Translation: Хто перший?- _Who's first?_


	28. Rooms on Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam recuperates. A secret is revealed to Dean. Alfie's just wondering why the hell he's still in the warehouse in the first place. 
> 
> Title taken from an awesome Stevie Nicks song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Wow, three chapters now. I'm on a roll. Thanks for all the lovely comments. You guys are awesome.

_**Before** _

" _It's Sergeant Milligan, actually." Adam shook his hand, pumping it exuberantly. "I won't waste your time, Doctor. I'm here with information."_

_That caught his attention. "How's that?"_

" _We found Mr. Wesson's assailant strung up in a park on the lower east side with his brains blown out. Looks like a mob killing."_

_Alfie shrugged. "I wouldn't know, officer."_

" _Of course. That dead end didn't bring up much, but there's been rumors."_

_Singer crossed his arms, blatantly glaring. "Like what?"_

" _That Wesson's shooting was ordered. From the inside."_

_Alfie frowned. "The inside of what?"_

" _What I'm sure Mr. Winchester would hesitate to call an 'organization' in the open court of law." Milligan shrugged, mouth quirking. "I would watch yourself, Doctor. Looks like you've got a mole."_

" _You know what they say about rumors," Singer said. "You can hear 'em, but you can't know 'em. Maybe you should verify your sources. Or question why you have them at all, Officer."_

_Milligan ignored the other man, smiling lukewarmly at Alfie. "I'll be back to retrieve their statements tomorrow. Make sure they're awake this time."_

* * *

_**Now** _

Dean stepped away from the surgical tables, flinging blood from his good hand. He swore as he almost slipped in a puddle of blood to his right, cursing his new sling. The lack of balance, combined with the loss of his left hand, was more than enough to prompt a smirk from Castiel. Strangely, the other man didn't even look up at him.

"Leaving?"

Dean tore a cigarette from his pocket, his fingers smudging it pink. "You ain't gonna get shit out of him. They don't know anything."

He passed a pale looking Alfie on the way out, ignoring Castiel's weary sigh. Fine. Let the other man spend his whole day cutting and burning. He wouldn't get anywhere. There was nothing that could prove who orchestrated attempted murder, save a schoolyard fistfight.

"Dean,"

The boss didn't turn around as Alfie fell into step next to him, lighting his cigarette with a shaky hand. He inhaled once, relishing the taste of the nicotine. Wouldn't be able to for much longer. "What?"

"Before-I told you I had to speak with you about something." The doctor swallowed nervously, putting a hand out. "Officer Milligan visited yesterday. He found the Ukrainian's body."

"So?" Dean asked, growing irritated as the other man refused to move. He pushed away, stalking down the hallway. "Tell me something I don't know, kid."

"So, he also mentioned that he has sources. Sources that are saying the hit on you and Sam came from the inside."

Dean felt his feet grind to a halt, overbalancing slightly. "What?"

"He thinks you have a mole. Someone who was feeding information on your security measures. Someone on the inside."

Alfie watched as the other man's face tightened, a mask falling across his features. Green eyes found his after a moment, cold as ice. "Follow me."

The doctor trailed after him up the stairs, biting his lip as they walked into Sam and Dean's private quarters. Dean unfastened his sling too quick for his liking, striding into his closet and throwing it on the bed. "Close the door."

Alfie did as he was told, watching Dean undo his bloody shirt and toss it into a basket by the bed. He wondered vaguely if they dealt with bloody clothing often. Did they wash them? Did they buy new ones? They were certainly rich enough. The other man quickly dressed, doing up the buttons with a certain ferocity.

"I have jammers in place here," Dean murmured after a minute, glancing at the door. "Too many close calls with Gabriel and a certain betting pool I'm going to pretend doesn't fucking exist. Should be safe here."

"For what?"

"Tell me who you think the mole is."

Alfie gaped. "I don't know!"

"Guess," Winchester growled, tugging a tie around his neck. He looked at Alfie. "I know it wasn't you. I could see you lying from a mile away."

"H-how-" Alfie stammered, feeling a blush color his cheeks. "You know what, nevermind. But that doesn't mean I have any clues! Why choose me?"

"I trust those people with my life," Dean said, oddly serious. He looked at Alfie. "That's the problem."

"Dean," Jo's voice buzzed from an intercom system across the room. "An Officer Milligan is here to interview you. I'm afraid he's rather insistent."

Dean turned in a circle, hands outstretched. "Good?"

"You look...nice."

"I meant check me for blood, dumbass."

Alfie glanced across the shirt briefly, satisfied. "Uh...yeah."

Dean slung his sling over his neck, tying it with expertise. "Then let's do this."

* * *

Sam sat up straighter in the bed as footsteps sounded in the hallway, dropping the newspaper he was reading. The motion made his stomach ache around the bullet wound, the stitches threatening pain at even a twitch. "Dean?"

"Afraid not."

Sam watched as the speaker entered the room, cataloguing the sandy blonde hair, the badge at his hip-blue eyes that seemed to be a little too knowing for a beat cop. The man's lips twitched as he saw Sam for the first time, something he'd almost call satisfaction if he didn't…

...know better.

_His thoughts started slipping right before the ambulance arrived, darting in and out of coherence as black spots enveloped his vision. He saw an officer running towards him, only for him to be at his side a second later. His nametag read_ Milligan _._

_Sam watched him, entranced as the man's lips curled into a quick smile-too fast to be noticed by everyone else, they were busy hurrying and panicking-but Sam saw. Sam saw something a little bit like triumph in those eyes. He shuddered in Dean's arms, trying to find his husband. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe-_

"Officer," He greeted him with a sunny smile, not bothering to offer a hand. "What on earth are you doing down here?"

"Mr. Wesson. It's a pleasure." Milligan put his hand out, narrowing his eyes when Sam ignored the gesture. "Adam Milligan. I was there the night of your shooting."

"Of course," Sam said, glancing at the doorway. Brady's eyes caught his from the hallway, looking guilty. Well, there was no doubt who'd shepherded Milligan down to the basement now. "Looking for a statement, Officer?"

Milligan pulled out a notebook, pointing at Dean's unoccupied chair. "Mind if I sit?"

Sam felt his heart hammer as the man drew close. "Of course."

As Milligan sat, he brushed none-too-softly against the bed frame, jostling him. Sam bit off a surprised cry of pain, digging his nails into his palms as he struggled to get his breathing under control.

The other man was grinning as he opened his eyes. He knew exactly what he'd done.

With a subtle shift of his hand, Sam disconnected the monitor, letting it fall underneath his blankets. Milligan didn't seem to notice, still staring at him. "Well?"

"What do you remember, Mr. Wesson?" Milligan paused, frowning. "Or should I be calling you Mr. Winchester?"

"Wesson is fine," Sam said, watching as the other man scribbled something in his notebook, nodding. "I don't remember much. Dean and I were very drunk. All of a sudden, there was shouting and-I remember hearing a gunshot."

"And?"

Sam blinked, tilting his head. "And then I woke up here. With Dean." He glanced down at his wedding band, unable to help himself. "Like I said. I don't remember much."

"Do you think, with the past history of violent events surrounding your name, this could have been premeditated?"

Sam raised both eyebrows, shocked at his gall. "What are you even implying, _Officer?_ "

"Do you have any enemies, Mr. Wesson? Anyone who'd want to see you dead?"

The boss grit his teeth, watching Milligan's eyes simmer with satisfaction. "I think any businessman would have a few burned bridges."

"Is that what you are?" Milligan blinked innocently. "A businessman, I mean."

"As much as you are an officer of the law," Sam said, smiling sweetly even though his throat burned. "I'm afraid I'm getting a bit dizzy. Would you mind if we saved the rest of this for another day?"

"Oh, I'm done already." Milligan stood, wisely not offering his hand this time. He drew threateningly close to the bedframe again, but Sam didn't allow him the satisfaction of seeing him flinch. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Wesson. I'll be checking up on Mr. Winchester next. See his side of the story."

"I'd wish you luck…" Sam smiled again, tasting something metallic in his mouth. "But you don't seem to need it."

Milligan ducked his head once, then left the room. Sam watched him go, then grabbed the phone next to his bed, dialing furiously.

"Get me Castiel. Now."

* * *

Dean strode into the conference room where Milligan was waiting, doing up the cufflinks on the sleeve of his good hand. Gabriel, the only available lieutenant for some goddamned reason, followed behind him. They sat. Dean kicked his feet up, fixing the officer with a blatantly fake smile.

"How can I help you, Officer?"

Adam Milligan smiled, throwing a pair of photographs across the polished table.

"It's more about how I can start helping _you_ , Dean."

"What are these?"

Adam shrugged. "A leak in your organization. Maybe one of many."

"I don't have leaks," Dean said, leaning back. "Sorry. And I didn't think Chicago PD actually cared, though it's touching."

He glanced at the pictures anyway. Brady's pale face stared up at him from multiple photographs, taken as he was walking across a street. Two familiar looking Ukrainians dominated the last three shots. Damning evidence, as it was.

Milligan was smiling when he looked up.

"Now you do."

"Why would you help me?" Dean asked, kicking his feet off the table. "Huh? Why would a cop of all people come here with these photographs?"

"Because I want to help you," Milligan replied calmly, ignoring his outburst. He leaned forward, blue eyes wide. "And...because I'm your brother."

Dean world shuddered to a halt.

" _What_?"

* * *

Castiel came running to the infirmary, chest heaving. He spotted Sam laying in bed and put his gun away, placing a hand to his chest. "What is it?"

"Sit," Sam ordered, but there was worry in his eyes. He yanked Castiel onto his own bed before the lieutenant could sit in the plastic chair, grabbing him a pillow. "Want some morphine?"

Cas waved his offer away, leaning back into the pillow. "Tell me what's wrong."

"That cop was just in here. Milligan."

The lieutenant's eyes snapped open immediately. "Did he hurt you?"

"No, no." Sam said quickly, watching the other man relax. "But he made some not-so-subtle threats. Jabs at my past. He's interviewing Dean now."

Castiel looked up at him, head tilting like a bird's. "What did he say?"

"It's not what he said. It's what he didn't. Cas, he _smiled_ at me." Sam huffed a breath, feeling pain lance up his side. "He bumped into the bedframe, and I swear I saw him laugh. And-I don't know if this is real or not-but I remember him. From the wedding. I saw him smiling when I was shot, I swear."

The lieutenant was quiet for a while, saying nothing. Sam bit his lip.

"I'm rambling. You think I'm crazy."

"I believe you, Sam." Castiel said, looking at him. "He did the same thing to Alfie earlier. Something's not adding up."

"Well, I'd like to find out," Sam grumbled. "Get Crowley on it. Please?"

Castiel blinked his good eye. "Of course. I'll have Benny and Gabriel show the unfortunate officer out, in the meantime."

"You have no idea how relieved that makes me feel," Sam said, grinning. Castiel carefully stood, minding Sam's wounds. "Thanks, Cas."

"Always," the lieutenant said, dipping his head. "I'll go find Dean."

"No need,"

The two men turned to find Dean at the doorway, an arm around Milligan's shoulders. Sam traded a glance with Castiel, unsure what to say.

"Dean."

"Sam, babe," Dean patted Milligan's shoulder.

"I want to introduce you to someone. Meet my brother. Adam."

* * *

Alfie left his guestroom to the sound of shouting. He stuck his head over the balcony, worried it might devolve into something worse. It seemed like a common occurrence in the Winchester-Wesson household.

He'd already had two split lips and a black eye stumble into his room, mumbling for a doctor. Singer was a wise man for staying somewhere else, that was for sure.

He narrowed his eyes as the shouting cut off. Gabriel stood over one of the lower level members-Brady, he remembered-pointing at the door. Even with his shorter stature, he looked threatening.

"Out, Brady." The lieutenant growled. "I don't want to shoot you, but the last few days have been _particularly_ stressful, and I'm not feeling all that goddamned sympathetic!"

"I didn't _do_ whatever it is you're accusing me of!" Brady shouted back, getting up in Gabriel's face. Mistake number one. "What the hell is going on, man? You _know_ me! I didn't do this!"

"Photographic evidence seems to suggest otherwise," Gabriel said icily, not moving. He tilted his head, an expression of mock-sympathy on his face. "One last chance, Brady. Leave before we make you."

The rest of the organization seemed uneasy, members gathering around the confrontation. With one desperate glance at Sam's closed office door, Brady turned for the door.

"That's right," Gabriel muttered to his retreating back, "Leave like the traitor you are."

"You're going to regret this," Brady told him, pausing at the door. He looked pale. Something had spooked him. "Sam will know. He'll prove it."

"Sam doesn't give a damn about your candy ass," Gabriel told him, drawing a chuckle from the crowd. "Now get the hell out of his house."

Alfie watched the man leave, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. A wail broke the silence. Jo sat at the receptionist's desk to his left, nursing one of the twins.

He walked over and grabbed the other from its carrier. Jo gave him a grateful look.

"That was interesting."

The smaller woman smiled, but the expression didn't reach her eyes. "Is it true what they're saying?"

"About Brady? I don't know."

Jo shook her head. "That's not what I meant. Even if it's a shame. I liked Brady, he watched the twins sometimes…"

Alfie watched her gaze drift away. "What did you mean?"

"I meant about Dean. That his brother is here."

Jo continued when Alfie stayed silent. "The cop. Milligan. It's all anybody can talk about."

Alfie felt his stomach drop.

"Where are they right now?"

"I think they're with Sam in the infirmary," Jo said, startled as he pushed the other twin back into her hands. "Alfie-"

"Sorry, gotta go!" He said over his shoulder, dashing for the elevator.

_Shit, shit shit shit shit shit…_

* * *

Sam stared at Dean, taking a deep breath in.

"Your brother."

His husband smiled at him the first honest-to-God smile he'd seen since the shooting. "My brother. Sam, this is Adam. Adam, my husband and the love of my life."

Sam inclined his head, watching Adam carefully. "We already met."

"Nice to see you again. _Sam_."

Castiel's fist clenched in the blankets next to him, hidden to Dean. Sam felt the bed vibrate with tension, glancing at Dean.

"Could my husband and I have a second alone?" He asked sweetly, smiling for all he was goddamned worth. _Work it, Sam._ "It's just, it's lovely to meet you Adam, but I've been unconscious for a few days, and I'd really like to talk to him for a moment."

"Of course," Adam said. He looked at Cas, still rigid on the bed. "Cas, right? Why don't you show me around? Dean only gave me a quick tour."

Dean's trusting face was on in full force. Sam watched as Castiel's hand was forced, the lieutenant standing and walking out of the room. Adam followed with a quick wave, leaving them alone.

"Dean. What the hell?"

The other man's eyes lit up as he sat next to Sam, practically shaking with excitement. "I can't believe it either. I have a _brother,_ Sam."

"It's just...this came out of nowhere." Sam said quickly, smiling before Dean's face could fall. "He's John's, right? That other family he talked about.."

"Yeah. Half-brothers, technically, but…" Dean shrugged. "He's family, Sam. I never had a family before."

"He's a cop."

"He's like _us,_ Sam." Dean looked him straight in the eyes. "He's helping. He found the leak, the one who set you up. It was Brady."

"Brady?" Sam said, sitting up suddenly. The movement set his stomach on fire, and he fell back into the pillows with a groan. "Dean, Brady's not a narc!"

"He had pictures, Sam," Dean said, waving a hand. "Gabriel fired him already. But listen. He's going to help us find any other leaks. It's going to be okay. You'll be safe, don't worry."

"Dean, I'm not _worried_ about my safety!" Sam said, putting a hand to the other man's face. "You don't even _know_ this guy!"

"What if I want to get to know him, huh?" Dean snapped, pushing Sam's hand away. He looked away, eyes closed.

"I didn't mean to yell at you."

Sam felt his heart break a little as Dean's eyes met his, just the tiniest bit wet. "Family really means this much to you."

"If it means having one for the first time, then yeah." Dean said, voice hoarse. "I'll have someone look into him, if it makes you feel better. I'm not an idiot."

_I'm your family,_ Sam wanted to say, but held his tongue. "Well, we should celebrate. Dinner? I think I can make it up the stairs…"

That was a lie, but Dean didn't have to know that. The other man smiled, the honesty in it shocking. Sam had spent the day behind fake expressions, watching Adam's face twist into smirk after smirk...and here was the best one he'd ever seen.

"I love you." Dean grabbed him in a gentle hug, kissing his forehead. "So much."

"Me too," Sam said, glancing at the unplugged heart monitor. "Me too, Dean."

* * *

Castiel felt Adam's presence behind him, like an itch between his shoulderblades. The other man followed him up the stairs, oddly quiet after his exuberant introduction. Castiel wanted to punch him in his smarmy teeth. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option.

"So, you're Dean's lieutenant." Adam ventured when they'd reached the lobby, looking around the open space. "What's that like?"

"Rewarding," Castiel muttered, turning to face him when he realized his charge wasn't moving anymore. "I would do anything for Dean."

"Hm." Adam poked at one of the paintings on the wall. Castiel grit his teeth. Sam had picked that one out. "Quite a thing you guys have going here."

"We don't usually have law enforcement officers here. Forgive us if we're a little unaccustomed."

Milligan snorted at that, turning around. "Even dirty cops? I heard Luke Milton hung around here just fine."

Castiel saw it as beneath him to smile back. "He's not permitted at the moment, if that's a testament to anything."

"That's funny." Adam said, though he didn't laugh. "You've got a sense of humor, Cas-can I call you Cas?"

Castiel's lips twitched. "Не через миллион лет."

"I don't speak Russian, or whatever the hell language that was."

They circled each other, though it was barely apparent. Castiel put his back to the wall, watching the man pace. "Of course."

"Good." Adam clapped him on the shoulder. "I think you and I are going to become good friends, Cas."

Cas smiled, shrugging out of the grip. He pushed the anger and tension down into a small knot in his chest, forcing his lips into a smile.

"Care to see the pool room, Mr. Milligan?"

* * *

Translation: Не через миллион лет-Not in a million years


	29. Noise Complaints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam slips closer into Dean's inner circle, while Sam and Castiel step out of it. A storm's brewing in Chicago, and it seems like Sam's right in the middle of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Here's a longer chapter for you. I'm all burnt out for the week, so I hope you enjoy.

_**Before** _

" _It's not what he said. It's what he didn't. Cas, he smiled at me." Sam huffed a breath, feeling pain lance up his side. "He bumped into the bedframe, and I swear I saw him laugh. And-I don't know if this is real or not-but I remember him. From the wedding. I saw him smiling when I was shot, I swear."_

_The lieutenant was quiet for a while, saying nothing. Sam bit his lip._

" _I'm rambling. You think I'm crazy."_

" _I believe you, Sam." Castiel said, looking at him. "He did the same thing to Alfie earlier. Something's not adding up."_

" _Well, I'd like to find out," Sam grumbled. "Get Crowley on it. Please?"_

_Castiel blinked his good eye. "Of course. I'll have Benny and Gabriel show the unfortunate officer out, in the meantime."_

" _You have no idea how relieved that makes me feel," Sam said, grinning. Castiel carefully stood, minding Sam's wounds. "Thanks, Cas."_

" _Always," the lieutenant said, dipping his head. "I'll go find Dean."_

" _No need,"_

_The two men turned to find Dean at the doorway, an arm around Milligan's shoulders. Sam traded a glance with Castiel, unsure what to say._

" _Dean."_

" _Sam, babe," Dean patted Milligan's shoulder._

" _I want to introduce you to someone. Meet my brother. Adam."_

* * *

_**Now** _

Adam poured himself another glass of wine, accidentally hitting the bottle against the rim. The sound echoed through the silent room, bouncing off the walls. Dean looked up from his food, grinning around a bite of pork.

"Empty in here, huh?"

"Where is everyone?" Adam asked, pulling his glass back to his setting. "Not that I'm complaining. Just wondering."

"Training, business." Dean said, gesturing with a fork. "Sam would be here if he could, I'm sure. The doctors say he's too weak right now and I…" the other man trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. "He really seemed to like you."

_Oh, I'm sure,_ Adam thought to himself, cutting into his own meat. "That's good. I wouldn't want to, you know, overstay my welcome. I know you two just got married."

"Sam and I have an excellent relationship as it is," Dean murmured, glancing at the floor. The infirmary had to be just beneath them, save a layer of concrete or two. "I just want him to get healthy. You won't believe us in action."

"Not sure I know what kind of _action_ you're talking about…" Adam quipped, drawing a laugh from the other man. "You might be my brother, but there are some things that should remain unseen."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Jealous?"

"You caught me," Adam put his hands up. "My girlfriend left a month or two ago. Apartment's been empty ever since. So I guess I'm just lonely."

He saw the thought begin to form in Dean's eyes, and relished the brief interlude. The other man set his silverware down, staring him down. God, but his eyes were green-nothing like his own. "You can always stay here, man. We got plenty of rooms."

"I wouldn't want to impose," Adam said, struggling to keep his face straight.

"Nonsense. I'll have someone throw together a room. Spend a couple days with us, won't you?"

He saw the eager look in Dean's eyes at spending quality time together, already planning a couple of adventures. "I mean, I do have some vacation days to roll over from the station…"

"Great, man," Dean said, grabbing his glass. He looked down at the wine, frowning. "Wanna get a beer? I'm suddenly feeling less…..I don't know. Fancy."

"Wouldn't want me to think you're some pompous asshole." Adam said, getting a push from his brother. "Ow!"

"Let's go get that beer, weirdo. I'll show you how pompous I can get."

* * *

Sam felt the sweat dripping down his hairline and bit back a groan, stretching forward. The foam rod in his hands rolled a few inches forward, then back again. Forward, back. Again.

"C'mon, Sam. You're doing great."

Sam managed two more reps before he collapsed backwards, slumping against the wall. Alfie grabbed the foam rod and threw it in the corner, sitting down next to him.

"That was great."

"You mean awful," Sam bit out, placing a hand to his chest. "I can't breathe. It burns."

"It's going to hurt for a while. You're still healing."

Sam just shook his head, reaching for the side of the bed. Alfie stood immediately, helping him up. The taller man winced, curling around his stomach. "I feel useless."

Alfie glanced up at the ceiling, cursing Dean again for his missing presence. He wasn't negligent-he woke Sam up with a kiss every morning, a fact Sam had reminded himself of during the first six sets with the roller-but he wasn't here. Supporting Sam. "You're just impatient. Most people don't even think about physical therapy this soon after getting injured."

Sam laid back against his pillows, chest heaving. "Thank you for this."

"Hey, it's my job." Alfie said, smirking. He patted Sam's leg. "Remember? You started paying me a few weeks ago."

"Any time you need a raise, let me know." Sam waved his way. A quick knock at the doorway drew both their attention. Gabriel entered the room, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Sammy. My man. How are we feeling this fine September morning? You look lovely, as always."

"Sore." Sam accepted a fist bump from his lieutenant, shutting his eyes. "You got that paperwork I asked for?"

Gabriel's mirth dimmed a little, but he kept smiling. He pulled a manila folder from behind his back, handing it to the boss. "I did a full background check, plus I had a PI stalk him for a few days. Nothing special. Everything checks out."

Sam flipped through the folder, eyes scanning the papers. "What about John? Any mentions of him?"

"Not really. Kid had a single mom, Dad popped in every few years for birthdays, baseball games, but nothing permanent. He stayed with them a few months back.."

"But he didn't come down for the funeral." Sam finished, looking at the last paper. "Do you think he blames Dean?"

"You guys didn't exactly give him the chance to attend," Gabriel said, shrugging. Sam's mind catapulted back to that day-it had rained in the cemetery, but nothing was colder than Dean's face for the hour it took to put John's body in the ground

"He seems okay with Dean." Gabriel continued without care for Sam's sudden discomfort. "They spoke about it a couple of times."

Alfie tilted his head. "How do you know?"

"I asked Dean." Gabriel stood a little straighter. "I've been doing some digging of my own, just in case. The guy's clean, Sam. I don't know why you keep pushing it."

Sam shared a glance with Alfie. "I just...have a couple doubts."

"Look," Gabriel said, sitting down. "If my long-lost brother found me halfway through life, I'd hug him and give him a beer no matter what. It's a family thing. Maybe you're just not getting it."

Sam's face went blank, and Alfie knew immediately, somehow, Gabriel had made a mistake. "I had a brother too, Gabriel."

The lieutenant froze, eyes latching onto Sam's clenched fists. "O-of course. I didn't mean to-"

"I know," Sam said icily, acknowledging. He grabbed the folder and tossed it onto his bedside table. "That's all for now. Dismissed."

Gabriel's nostrils flared, but he acquiesced. As soon as he left the room, Alfie turned to Sam. "You okay?"

"Fine." The boss said, tugging on the corner of the folder. "Thank you."

* * *

Alfie ran into Ruby at dinner, and, spotting a good opportunity, opened his big, fat mouth.

"Hey, Sam said he had a brother. That true?"

Ruby raised an eyebrow, setting her plate down. "Aren't we curious for a Monday night?"

He looked behind him, paranoid. "Is it true or not?"

Meg waved at her girlfriend from the dining room. Ruby smiled at her, obviously growing impatient. "Yes. It is."

"What happened to him?"

The other woman froze, blinking. Meg was on her way over, but she seemed to be looking farther away.

"Sam killed him." Ruby smiled sunnily. "That good enough for you?"

* * *

Dean woke up to the sound of whimpers.

For a moment, all he could feel was the heat of Sam against him, surrounded by blanket after blanket. A hand grazed his side, waking him up.

Sam was twisting back and forth, covered in sweat. He muttered something under his breath, eyes clenched shut. Dean sat up, blinking away his fatigue. "Sam?"

"Please," Sam whispered, flinching as Dean reached out to touch his cheek. "Not again. I swear, I'll be good, I swear-"

" _Sam_."

Sam gasped, eyes flying open. He grabbed for Dean's hand, only to push it away as he recognized him. "D-Dean."

"Are you okay?" Dean asked immediately, leaning forward. "Sam. You gotta look at me."

"I'm fine," Sam breathed, holding his side. "I'm fine. Really. Just a nightmare."

"You don't get nightmares."

His husband smiled mirthlessly, a flash of white in the dark. "I know."

Dean reached out a hand, but Sam was already turning over, dragging the blankets to his side of the bed, his back a rigid line.

* * *

Adam stayed longer than anyone had predicted. Gabriel found himself more and more often in Dean's office, slinging beers or chatting with Adam when Dean was out. The man was fairly easy to read, even with Sam's fears. He'd hung out with him at first to assuage his boss, but even he had to admit that Adam was charming.

Business went on, except sometimes Dean took Adam with him instead, dressed in civilian clothes. They came home laughing, more than a little drunk.

That stung Gabriel a little, knowing that was Sam's spot. He knew it bothered Castiel too, but couldn't muster the courage to ask Dean about it. Every time he saw the two bosses together, they looked happy. They were married, even if the honeymoon had been postponed.

In the middle of the third week of Adam's stay, he walked past Dean's office with the express idea of inviting the brothers to pool in the common room. He'd swindled Adam out of fifty bucks the week before, but the younger man still seemed eager to play.

All thoughts of hustling disappeared as he turned the corner, hearing Castiel's raised voice before he saw the man. His lover stood in front of Dean, anger emblazoned across his features. "-on _purpose-_ "

"Adam would never do that," Dean told him icily, ignoring the tense line of Castiel's shoulders, vibrating with anger. "And you are _way_ out of line."

"Don't you wonder for a second if you're being too trusting? Does it even cross your mind?" Castiel was close to shouting, leaning across Dean's desk, both hands on the polished hardwood. "Sam is _scared_ of him!"

"Yeah, well, Adam's been more helpful than Sam's been in weeks. Does that ever cross your mind?"

Castiel's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "Do you _hear_ what you're saying? He's _recuperating_!"

Dean narrowed his eyes. "He'll be fine. Don't fuck me on this, Castiel. I'm warning you."

"You don't _know_ him!"

"I thought I knew _you_! _And_ Sam!" Dean shouted back, finally rising to the bait. Gabriel watched as he threw a sheath of papers at the lieutenant. The paper scattered across the room. Castiel stood still, mouth a solid line. "Tell me what he dug up isn't true."

There was silence for a moment as Castiel picked up one of the papers. "I told you when I joined your organization that there were things in my past you wouldn't want to see- _couldn't_ see."

Dean shook his head, bitter. "I never imagined- _this_."

Gabriel strained to see one of the papers, but couldn't risk exposing his hiding spot. Castiel made a choked sound as he looked at one of the papers, then dropped it with a shaking hand.

"Where are you going?" Dean asked angrily. "Cas!"

"To see your husband," the lieutenant replied, coat swirling behind him as he exited the room. He spotted Gabriel standing in the hallway and paused.

"What were you thinking, Cas? He's right, you're way out of line." Gabriel swallowed nervously as something was thrown in Dean's office. "What the hell are you even doing?"

Castiel looked at him like he'd shattered his heart with seven words. "The right thing. Apparently."

With that, he was gone.

* * *

Alfie rubbed his eyes, trying to figure out what was causing his dream of young Madeleine Stowe to slip away. He dared a glance at the alarm clock: 5 AM. Of course someone would be knocking at this hour.

He strode over to the door, ready to give whatever unfortunate shmuck who was behind it bloody hell. "Okay, did anyone ever tell you it was fucking rude to wake-"

Castiel stood at his door, hands folded behind his back. Alfie trailed off, mouth falling open. "...and I'm going to have to ask you to borrow your pistol."

"Why?" The Russian asked, quirking a brow. Alfie groaned, putting a hand out.

"So I can put myself out of my misery."

Castiel smirked, the expression reaching his eyes finally. "Sorry. We have need of you yet, Doctor."

"You have Bobby."

"Who seems to be enjoying his well-deserved vacation," Castiel parried, stepping inside his room. Alfie stood back, shutting the door. "Put some clothes on and meet us by the south bay in ten minutes."

"What? Why?"

"We're taking Samuel to his physical therapy appointment." Castiel replied, his face blanker than Alfie's first semester Chem final. "Hurry up."

"Sam doesn't have a physical therapy appointment- _I'm_ his physical therapist!"

"Sam has a physical therapy appointment," Castiel replied tersely, looking him straight in the eye. "You are to accompany us. Nine minutes."

Alfie watched as the man exited his room, then fumbled for his clothes.

* * *

_Bang. Bang. Bang bang bang._

Dean took a step back, removing his ear protection. He looked at Adam, wiggling his eyebrows. "Well?"

Adam curled his lip, barely even glancing at the target.

"Sloppy."

"You're just saying that cause you boys in blue couldn't hit the broad side of a barn."

Adam pushed him, getting more than his full share back. Dean ruffled his hair as they really went for it, wrestling against the table. "Dude-"

It had been like this for almost a month now. Dean couldn't describe what having a brother-having _family_ -was like again. There was something so reassuring about looking to his left and seeing a smiling face, someone who was there through the thick and thin of it. Adam _got_ him. Adam wasn't like John-didn't judge him right off the bat for what he'd made with his two bare hands. Adam was proud of his old brother-and _Christ,_ did that do something to his chest sometimes.

Sam had been distant. It troubled him sometimes, but his husband was always quick to reassure, and Sam wouldn't lie about that. Not if it was really bugging him. Not when there were so many issues with turf and land lately…

" _Sometimes you forget you're running a business." Sam had teased him one night. "You missed the Slovenians again."_

" _Did I? Must have slipped my mind." Dean had smiled at him, kissing his husband softly. He trailed a hand down Sam's chest. "Any idea when you'll be up to this again?"_

_Sam had laughed, grabbing his hand and tugging him closer. "I can think of other things to do in the meantime."_

Dean blinked away the memory as Adam nearly knocked him over, delivering a soft jab to the kid's side. Adam rolled over, coughing.

"Uncle!"

"So I was thinking we could get lunch with Sam today," Dean said. _Liar._ He'd just made that up now. _Guilty, guilty._ "I've been hogging you for too long. Time my two-man team got closer, don't you think?"

Adam's smile faded a little. He stood slowly, biting his lip. "Dean…"

"I know you guys maybe didn't get along great at first. It's just, Sam doesn't really trust cops. You know how it is…"

Adam placed a hand on Dean's shoulder. "That's not what I meant. Can we maybe-maybe talk upstairs?"

"Sure," Dean said, frowning. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah. Of course."

* * *

"You have a tail," Castiel murmured to Sam, watching carefully out of the back window. "Blue SUV, no front plates. Male, caucasian driver. About 6'1."

Sam waited a moment before glancing back himself, gritting his teeth for what felt like the millionth time this week. "Any chance we can lose them?"

Castiel looked at the driver in the rearview mirror, who shrugged and changed lanes. Alfie grabbed onto Castiel's shoulder as they went careening around a corner, face pale. "Oh my god."

Sam leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes. "I don't know how, but I swear Adam planted it."

Castiel smiled grimly. "I wouldn't put it past him."

"I thought we were going to the _doctor_ ," Alfie said, looking at Sam. "Why would he be following you, anyway?"

"He's suspicious," Sam said to Castiel, looking out the window once more. "I think we lost him."

"Famous last words," Alfie grumbled, ducking his head a little. "Are we there yet?"

"You're almost worse than Gabr-" Castiel cut off, biting his tongue. Sam glanced at him quizzically, but the lieutenant said nothing. Trouble in paradise, then. It made two people Gabriel wasn't speaking to anymore.

"We're pulling up now," The driver said, stopping in front of a set of polished black doors. Castiel helped Sam out of the back, Alfie taking up the rear with wide eyes. _Alastair Crowley, Attorney at Law_ read the sign next to the buzzer.

Castiel jabbed the buzzer, keeping a careful eye on the street as they waited. Alfie knew there were three machine guns and a rocket launcher hidden inside the car, still idling, but he felt naked out on the sidewalk. Every car that went by could be-well. Maybe it was just paranoia.

"Yes?" A clipped, British voice buzzed through the intercom. "What the bloody hell do you want? It's five in the fuckin' morning, you idiots."

"Alastair. I need you to open this door. _Now_." Castiel jabbed at the buzzer for good measure. "Or so help me God, I will tell Dean what happened to his favorite Smith and Wesson."

"Ah, not enough leverage." Crowley replied back. Castiel narrowed his eyes.

"What if I brought up the _unfortunate_ strip tease with-"

"Whoah, whoah." The door unlocked faster than the speed of light, Crowley muttering something about _thongs_ and _I thought she was eighteen_ through the intercom. "Come up right away, Cassie. You know I miss our visits."

Alfie waited until Sam was safely in a plush chair in Crowley's office before he relaxed, sitting to his left. Castiel took a seat next to Crowley, accepting a mug of tea. The lawyer was wearing a pinstriped bathrobe, his hair still mussed from sleep. Alfie swore he spotted slippers.

"Sam, anything to drink?"

The boss shook his head. "No thank you."

"And you?"

Alfie froze as a menacing finger was pointed his way. "Uh...coffee?"

"Tea it is," the lawyer strode off into the kitchen, leaving them in the sitting room. He returned a moment later with a mug, which Alfie accepted gratefully. "So. Boys. What can I do for you?"

Castiel set his mug down. "That file I sent over. I trust you had a chance to do some investigating."

" _That_ file!" Crowley said, sitting down in an armchair next to his impressive fireplace. "I thought this was a social call! Three handsome men at my door before dawn, it had to be something special, no?"

Sam narrowed his eyes, but his expression had nothing on Castiel's. "Do you have anything, Alastair? Or am I wasting my time?"

Crowley eyed the lieutenant. "Never with me, darling."

He stood, opening a drawer behind his mantel. A stack of papers was removed efficiently, placed into Castiel's hands. "Here's all I have. Seems like your little officer isn't as innocent as hubby seems to think."

Alfie leaned over Sam's shoulder as Castiel passed the files to him, trying to decipher the charts and maps. He saw a photograph of Adam on a corner, a pair of binoculars in hand.

"Is that my room…." Sam's breath seemed to leave him. He inhaled. "Cas, I think that's my room."

Castiel's face turned even colder as he gently turned the page over. On the other side, Adam and Dean were in step together, the former with a protective hand over the other man's shoulders. Sam hissed between his teeth.

"It doesn't prove anything. Just that he was watching us."

Crowley reached across both of them, pointing at another photograph. "Not so quick, love."

All it took was a glance for Sam's mind to race to a halt. Adam was ducking behind his hand in this photo, sitting in some bar, but his partner was clearly outlined-the Ukrainian who'd gunned him down at the wedding.

"How did you get this photograph?" He asked Crowley. "We asked you to start looking a few weeks ago."

"I traced his steps. Backwards." Crowley leaned back in his chair, sipping his tea. "It's a still taking from a security camera in a pub over on 7th where the Ukrainian mob hangs out. Trust me, that little tidbit did _not_ come cheap."

"He knew. He knew the whole time…" Alfie put a hand on Sam's shoulder as the man started to breathe quickly. "Dean's with him right now. He could be in danger."

"Whatever the creepy twat is planning, I get the impression harming Dean is not a priority." Crowley said, glancing at the photo of Adam and Dean again. "Harming you, on the other hand…"

"Why wait to kill Sam after the wedding?" Cas asked. "Why not strike again immediately?"

"He had too many people around him," Alfie said. The two men turned to him. "Remember when he visited Sam in the hospital? I was the only one there with him."

"He was scoping Sam out," Castiel said, realizing. He looked at Sam. "Have you been alone with him since the accident?"

"Once." Sam said, his face white. "He kicked my bed. Remember? He was laughing at me."

"So he's enjoying this," Castiel surmised. He turned to Crowley. "He's a problem."

"I trust you, dear. No need to say it twice."

Sam grabbed Castiel's arm. "You can't kill him."

"What?" Alfie cried. "Sam, he's going to kill you! It's just a matter of time!"

"It'll crush Dean," Sam muttered, more to himself than the room. He looked at Castiel, eyes glassy. "Remember John? He pulled into himself for _months,_ and he didn't even _like_ the guy."

"He'll blame me…" Sam continued, swallowing. He grabbed Castiel's shoulder. "Kick him out, threaten him, I don't care. Dean can send him fucking post cards. But you can't kill him."

Crowley cleared his throat. "Well, then."

"Sam." Castiel said, barely a rumble. He looked at the boss, eyes wide. "I am begging you. Let me do this."

Alfie watched as the assassin got onto his knees in the carpet. Sam turned away, a hand going to his eyes. They stayed that way for a long minute, nobody moving.

"Cas…" Sam's voice was hoarse. "I can't…"

The blue-eyed man smiled, wistful. He stood, kissing Sam's forehead. The gesture seemed oddly deferent to Alfie. "I understand."

Crowley sighed, sparing a glance at Alfie. "Want some whiskey with that?"

"I thought the English didn't put anything in their tea."

A cork popped before he could take those words back. Crowley poured himself a decent share, handing it to Alfie. Sam and Castiel were still staring at each other, wordlessly communicating. The doctor shook his head and poured close to a fifth in.

"Oi! Watch it!" Crowley smacked his hand. "You have _no_ idea how expensive that is."

Alfie threw back his tea, then wiped his mouth. Sam was still listless in the chair.

"Worth it."

* * *

"I found something you're not going to like."

Dean frowned a Adam, a bemused smile on his face. They sat at a small cafe over on the 12th, the city already buzzing around them. "I like all your intel. I've been making money like crazy. What's not to like?"

"It's personal this time," Adam visibly steeled himself, eyes hesitant. "Dean, I think I found your mole."

"I thought the mole was Brady." Dean said, stubbing his cigarette out. He lit another without a thought, Sam's voice chiding him in the back of his head. "You're telling me there's another?"

"I'm telling you, Brady was just level one. This is inner circle stuff."

The boss froze. "Is it Castiel?"

"As far as I can tell, no." Adam bit his lip, looking away. "Dean, who hired Brady?"

"Sam. Why?"

Adam grimaced. "I've been doing some research, asking some questions. Turns out, Brady was doing some on the side business with the Ukrainian mob. And I have a source who swears he saw the him meeting the Ukrainian who shot you the other day."

Dean's fingers froze around the cigarette. "That's impossible."

"That's not all. Brady got paid after you were shot. Two million, wired to his account."

"From where?" Dean asked, forcing his lips to move. Adam grimaced again, turning away. "Tell me, damn it! I need to know!"

"Sam's private account." the man whispered, staring Dean in the eyes. "Your leak is Sam."

* * *

Gabriel caught his eye as he and Adam returned from brunch, waving a folder in the air. Dean patted his brother on the shoulder and promised to meet him in his office. He ducked out of the way, grabbing the folder. "More business?"

"You got it, boss."

Dean reviewed the demands and wrote a few notes in the margins, handing it back to the lieutenant. "Adam and I are going to go wake Sam up. Wanna come get lunch with us?"

Gabriel tilted his head. "Sam's not here. No one can find him."

"What?"

"He left early this morning. You didn't know?"

Dean shoved him out of the way. "Where was he last?"

"His room-why-"

* * *

Sam stood over Adam, a gun pointed at his head. Castiel was at his side, a steadying hand on his shoulder. Adam looked up just as Dean entered, blood running from his mouth, his nose, his eyes. "Dean, it was him, it was him the whole ti-"

Sam pulled the trigger, stock still as brain and skull fragments splattered the room. Adam's body tumbled to the floor, coming to a rest on their bedroom carpet. Someone made a horrified sound. It might have been Dean.

Sam looked up at the noise, still holding the gun. He met Dean's gaze steadily. He didn't recognize the man before him.

"Dean."

Wordless, he pulled his own gun and levelled it as his husband. Sam's eyes widened, even as Castiel placed himself in between the gun and the boss. "Dean, no."

"What the _hell_ have you _done_?"


	30. The Sound of Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam revisits his past as chaos erupts in the Winchester-Wesson organization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Sorry about that gap there. Here's a long one for you. I was messing around a little bit with a disjointed narrative, so let me know if you have any questions. Thanks you as always for all your reviews and PMs and follows. :)

_**Before** _

_Sam stood over Adam, a gun pointed at his head. Castiel was at his side, a steadying hand on his shoulder. Adam looked up just as Dean entered, blood running from his mouth, his nose, his eyes. "Dean, it was him, it was him the whole ti-"_

_Sam pulled the trigger, stock still as brain and skull fragments splattered the room. Adam's body tumbled to the floor, coming to a rest on their bedroom carpet. Someone made a horrified sound. It might have been Dean._

_Sam looked up at the noise, still holding the gun. He met Dean's gaze steadily. He didn't recognize the man before him._

" _Dean."_

_Wordless, he pulled his own gun and levelled it as his husband. Sam's eyes widened, even as Castiel placed himself in between the gun and the boss. "Dean, no."_

" _What the hell have you done?"_

* * *

_**Now** _

Castiel watched as Dean took a horrified step forward, stumbling towards Adam's body. He gathered his brother in his arms with a low moan, grief written across his face. Sam was right, it had been the same way with John, and now they were going to do it all over again-

Without a thought the lieutenant grabbed Sam's arm, tugging him backwards. The bullet wound Adam had left in his left shoulder wept blood, and Sam's grunt of pain testified to its damage well enough.

"Cas-"

"We need to leave," he hissed in Sam's ear. " _Now_."

Dean's head jerked up at the words, eyes narrowing in on his husband. Adam's blood was all over his chest, his hands. His voice shook. "You're not going…. _anywhere_."

"It's not what you think-" Sam said, beseeching. "Dean, he-"

"You _always_ had it in for him, Sam!" Dean shouted, "I knew it, he knew it, and he was so scared to tell me-"

"He had it in for _me,_ you ungrateful asshole!" Sam shouted back, cheeks red. Castiel was the only thing holding him back. "You chose some stranger over your own husband! You wouldn't have _believed_ what he'd done!"

Dean closed his mouth, hands shaking as he closed Adam's remaining eye. He was silent for a second. "You killed the only family I had left…"

" _I'm_ your family!"

Castiel watched as his boss paused, a tear falling from his eye. Adam's corpse remained in his arms, soaking into the floor. "Get out."

Sam's eyes were desperate. "Dean-"

"I said _GET OUT!_ "

Castiel grabbed Sam in a headlock and pulled him out the door before Dean could get his gun up. A bullet whizzed past his ear as he dragged Sam down the hallway, breaking apart almost a decade of friendship as it buried itself in the wall. They were lucky it hadn't been their skulls.

Sam's face was pale as he shoved him into an SUV in the basement, still splattered with Adam's blood. Castiel pulled out his cellphone, dialing with shaking fingers as the boss pressed a rag to his wound.

"It's Castiel. I need a safe house."

Sam grabbed his arm, surprising him with his sudden strength. Hazel eyes met his. "We can't just _leave_."

Castiel finished his call, sliding the phone into his pocket. He hopped into the driver's seat and started the car. He spared a final glance for the warehouse that had become his home for the past few years.

"You have no other choice."

* * *

_**Before** _

" _Sam…"_

_The boss turned from his desk at the sound of Adam's voice. A fission of fear went through him at the sight of the other man. Castiel's presence at his shoulder was the only thing that kept him upright; this was the man who'd tried to kill him-was probably still trying._

" _Adam." Sam said, not bothering with a smile. "How can I help you?"_

_Castiel shifted in warning as Adam drew closer, a hand on Sam's arm. The blonde man smiled at the movement, raising an eyebrow. "Scared of me?"_

_Sam smirked, barely feeling it. "If you think you're getting Dean, you have another thing coming."_

" _Hmm," Adam said, glancing around the office. His eyes settled on the wall across from the desk. "Who said I don't already have him?"_

_Before either men could move, the cop bashed his head into the wall, slamming it again and again until blood ran down his face. Sam watched in horror as Adam's face began to swell, blood pouring from his nose and eye. "Want a sneak peek?"_

" _Of_ what _?" Sam asked, horrified. Even Castiel was watching the man skeptically. "What are you doing?"_

_Adam grinned, his teeth bloody. He morphed his expression into one of terror, holding his hands up._

" _Stop, Sam! I didn't mean it-please. Please, stop hitting me-please. I didn't do anything-agh. No. No. Dean, help me-please, somebody help me!"_

_Sam took a step backward, horrified. "You did this to yourself."_

_Adam quirked a brow at the tap of footsteps down the hall. "Who do you think he's gonna believe, sweetcheeks?"_

" _Why are you doing this?" Sam growled, taking a step forward. He just barely resisted putting his hands on the other man. "I never did_ anything _to you!"_

" _I was always going to kill you," Adam whispered, face blank. His eyes were glassy. Sam realized he was getting his first glance at the real Adam Milligan. "You're in my way. You let my dad die. You're_ nothing _. I thought that bullet would have taken care of you, but now…"_

_Sam narrowed his eyes. "Now?"_

" _Now, maybe I kill you both, do nasty things with your bodies and throw 'em in the dumpster where they belong."_

" _You're sick," Sam said, "Adam. Dean-"_

_Adam leapt forward, grabbing his arm and twisting it until Sam cried out. Castiel was on him in a heartbeat, only to be stopped as Adam pulled a gun out of his pocket, placing it to Sam's head. The lieutenant stepped forward, not heeding the warning._

_Sam screamed as Adam shot him once in the shoulder, replacing the gun in its original position immediately. Castiel froze._

" _Not now, baby assassin." Adam cooed, "One shot, and it was Castiel who hurt me and murdered Sammy. Poor Cassy, he just couldn't handle it anymore…"_

_Sam kicked Adam in the leg and ducked away from him, slamming a fist into his already broken face. The other man grabbed for his mangled nose, dropping the gun. A second later it was in Sam's hands._

_Castiel kicked Adam's legs out from underneath him with a grunt, stepping back. Sam levelled the gun on the other man, hands trembling slightly as blood poured from his shoulder._

_Dean chose that moment to enter the room. Adam moaned loudly, face twisting into an expression of pain. He searched for Dean's eyes immediately, still spinning his web._

" _Dean, it was him, it was him the whole ti-"_

_Sam pulled the trigger, silencing him forever. The gun bucked in his hands, then went still. Castiel's breath hitched once._

" _Dean…" Sam opened his mouth, then realized he had no idea what to say. His husband was motionless, staring at Adam. Castiel stepped in between them. "D-"_

_Dean pulled his gun out with shaky hands, levelling it at Sam._

" _What the hell have you_ done _?"_

* * *

_**Now** _

Gabriel ran up the stairs, alerted by the sound of gunshots. He had his own pistol out by the time he reached the second floor, ducking into Dean's office without a second thought, looking for whoever had been shooting.

Dean sat on the floor, Adam's body cradled in his hands. His gun was on the carpet next to him, forgotten.

"Dean-"

The boss shoved his hand away, his fingers slippery with blood. Gabriel almost fell backwards, regaining his balance a moment later. There were bullet holes in the wall above his head. What the hell happened?

"Dean, where's Sam?"

Dean gazed at Adam's ruined face, lips pressed together. With a frustrated growl Gabriel pulled his walkie talkie out, pressing the talk button.

"I need a doctor up in Dean's office ASAP. Set up a perimeter and lock down the building, we may have an active shooter. Anyone have eyes on Sam or Cas?"

"Sam."

Gabriel looked at Dean. "What?"

"Sam did this." Dean said slowly, as if realizing. "Sam shot Adam."

" _What?_ "

Gabriel shouted in surprise as Dean grabbed his arm in a vice grip. His eyes were bloodshot this close up. "Put a hit out on them. Now."

"Are you fucking _insane_?"

Dean's eyes were dull as he grabbed Gabriel by the lapels, slamming him against the wall. "I want Sam back now, or I'm going after him myself."

"He's your _husband_." Gabriel pushed Dean back. "He wouldn't kill Adam. Sit down, you're obviously hallucinating..."

"Sam was the mole. Sam was the leak the whole time," Dean said, tripping over his words in his haste to get them out. He refused to let Gabriel moved him, swaying on his feet. "He probably orchestrated the whole shooting, just to shift away suspicion-and Adam found out. Adam knew the truth."

Gabriel let out a breath, shaking his head. This wasn't working. "Dean, what are you talking about?"

"Sam paid Brady off after the shooting. Two million dollars. He knew. He was probably just waiting for a chance…"

Dean stumbled away as alarms blared to life downstairs, almost crashing into his desk. He moved through the piles of paper with bloody hands, close to manic. "How did Sam take over the Wesson organization?"

Gabriel frowned. "He shot the ones who didn't go along with him. Who rebelled."

They glanced at Adam's body, unmoving in the center of the floor. Dean's face was white.

"He's doing it again."

"You're insane."

Dean turned to him as gunfire and shouting erupted downstairs, lips pulling back from his teeth in a grimace of a smile.

"Am I?"

* * *

"What the hell happened?"

Alfie's face was beyond shocked as he opened up Crowley's door, ushering them inside. Sam stumbled a little over the entryway, Castiel supporting him on his left.

Crowley shoved some papers off the coffee table and sat Sam down, checking under the rag on his shoulder. "Doctor, I think we have more pressing matters…"

Castiel squeezed Sam's hand once and opened his phone, shutting the blinds around them with a deft hand. "Get him patched up quickly. There's a bounty out on our heads. Dean wants us back."

" _What_?"

But Castiel wasn't listening, ear pressed to his phone, muttering in Russian. "Nyet, nyet…."

Alfie turned back to Sam, who sat calmly on the coffee table. Almost too calmly. He looked at Crowley, who shrugged expressively. "Sam, can you lay back for me?"

The boss acquiesced, grunting a little as the table jarred his shoulder. Alfie grabbed his bag and opened it, locating his pair of scissors. He quickly cut through Sam's shirt, biting his tongue as he saw the wound underneath it. "What kind of gun?"

"Whichever one Adam felt like shooting me with," Sam said sarcastically, then flinched when Alfie touched it. "I have no idea. Everything happened so quickly."

"Well, this I can fix." Alfie said, mustering his confidence. He glanced at Crowley. "Can you get some water boiling?"

"You act like us Brits don't have a kettle perpetually on the stove already," Crowley said, trying to lighten the mood. Sam's small smile at the line seemed worth it. "Of course, doctor."

Alfie grabbed the local anesthetics from his bag. He held the needle in front of Sam carefully, making sure he saw it. "I'm going to give you some painkillers before I extract the bullet, okay?"

Sam nodded, eyes flicking to where Castiel stood in the foyer. "Make it quick."

"Got somewhere to be?"

The joke fell flat as Sam's eyes watered, so Alfie set to work quickly. He injected the anesthetics and grabbed the suture kit, dabbing disinfectants on the wound.

Castiel returned a few minutes after Alfie had begun extracting the bullet, settling at Sam's side with worried eyes.

"How are you feeling?"

"Numb," Sam replied after a moment. Alfie got the impression the anesthetics had nothing to do with it. "You said something about a bounty?"

"Dean put one up. Three million for us both, alive."

Sam grunted, Alfie realizing a second later it was an attempt at a laugh. "At least he doesn't want us dead yet, huh?"

"He's overreacting," Castiel said, eyeing Alfie's work as Sam winced. The bullet fragment came out a second later, falling into the metal plate next to his hand with a dull thud. "He's grieving. He'll come to his senses soon."

"A safe house wasn't the couch I was planning on being kicked out to." Sam said sarcastically, brow smoothing out as Alfie applied another local anesthetic, grabbing his needle. "Cas…"

"Yes?"

"What if he doesn't come to his senses?"

Crowley slid back into his chair, an IPad in one hand. "Sorry to burst your bubble, boys, but word on the street is Sam's kids were kicked out. Looks like Daddy isn't too happy."

"English?" Alfie said, after nobody bothered to explain. "What does that mean?"

Sam grit his teeth. "He threw my people out."

"Better than executing them." Crowley said, tilting his head. "He's making a point."

"They're not _guilty_ of anything!"

Castiel soothed Sam with a touch, making a calming noise. "You need to calm down so the doctor can finish your stitches."

"Done," Alfie said a heartbeat later, thankful as the last knot was tied off. He wrapped the wound carefully, Castiel lifting the other man up without being instructed so he could get under his shoulder. "You need to rest and take your antibiotics for at least a week. I know things are bad right now, but this is your third bullet wound in a month."

The words didn't seem to reach Sam's ears. He turned to Crowley. "My men are out on the streets?"

"And pissed about it too."

"Good." Sam said, sitting up. He looked at Castiel. "Gather them up. We're reorganizing."

Castiel stared at him for a long moment, blue eyes wide. After another ten seconds, he dipped his head. "Where do you want them?"

Sam's face was a mask as he glanced out the window. It was futile, considering the blinds were down, but the gesture had its effect. A dull anger was showing in his eyes. "The old Wesson stronghold. I think it's time I went home."

* * *

It was pure chaos around Jo as the warehouse devolved into some hyped up version of twister. People were running around with guns and bags, some exiting the building, others entering it. Sam's people were long gone, save for the few injured lying across the parking lot. It turned her stomach even thinking about them out there. She _knew_ those people; she'd lived with them, fought with them…

She had a twin in each hand, their diaper bag over her shoulder. There was a pistol tucked away between the diaper wipes and the baby blanket, and she prayed she wouldn't have to use it. Someone ran past her with a Uzi in each hand, shouting something into a bluetooth headset in their ear.

Across the foyer, she spotted Benny sitting in a chair. He waved to her as she approached, the gesture south of half-hearted.

"Jo. Are you alright?"

"What the hell is _happening_?" Jo asked, feeling her hands begin to tremble at the sight of the other man. Was he on Dean's side? Sam's? Were they all going to have to choose sides? She took a step back. "Benny. Tell me that isn't your blood."

Benny stared down at his leg, squinting at the bloodstain there. "Ah…..it's not my blood. Promise."

"Christ." Jo said, handing him one of the twins and throwing herself into the other chair. Her son looked up at her with Nick's clear blue eyes, so pure it hurt. "Tell me you know something."

Benny held onto the other baby with gentle hands, jiggling it up and down as the noise around them grew. "Not much. Adam's dead. Dean put a hit out on Sam and Cas, then he kicked out all of his men. The rest is just FUBAR."

"FUBAR?"

The other man cracked a small smile. "It's German."

"Uh huh," Jo's mind was already racing. "Sam wouldn't kill Adam. He doesn't have a reason to. They got along fine."

"Dean says he did. Gabriel's with him now." Benny swallowed, eyes flicking to Jo, then to the floor. "Keep this on the down low-especially here. But I overheard Cas and Sam talking one night. About Adam."

Jo's eyes widened. "What did they say?"

"Sam was scared. Adam was freaking him out, messing with his head. He said something about kicking his bed, whatever the fuck-" Benny looked down at the baby in his hands, blinking "-fudge that means."

Jo looked around her uneasily. "Are you….are you gonna stay?"

"I have to." the lieutenant said, the hint of a smile at his lips. He stood, offering Jo his free hand. "But I'm getting you and the twins out of here first."

Jo grabbed his hand, letting him pull her to her feet. "Dean'll have orders for you."

Benny looked down at her, eyes fond. A distant gunshot made them both flinch. The twins started crying in sync. Jo felt her heart speed up, something like panic beginning to set in. "You're going to be okay, though, right?"

Before she could ask another question, a soft kiss settled on her forehead. Benny smiled against her brow, a steadying presence.

"Let's get you in a car. I'm taking you to your mother's."

Jo felt herself grow pale.

"Oh Christ."

* * *

The old Wesson headquarters was a mansion on the city's west side, set on sprawling grounds that had turned to a brown wasteland in little time. Tall black fences bracketed the land, growing more and more ominous by the minute as the skies darkened above them.

Castiel recognized the front of the house from Sam's file, but not much else.

"The locks should be the same as me and Gabe left them," Sam said quietly as he stepped out of the SUV, one arm in a sling. He gazed at his old house, his face a mask. "Water and electricity are still on. I had someone come by every now and then to make sure nobody broke in."

Castiel nodded once, gathering his coat closer around him. The wind had picked up, ruffling his hair. "I'll set up ten men at the perimeter for watch. Are three shifts enough?"

Sam didn't even look at him, drawing closer to the fence. "Make it fifteen. I'll be in Alan's study if you need me."

With that the boss was gone, pushing away the gate and limping inside. Castiel cast a final look across the blackened earth, spotting bullet casings and scorch marks. The Wesson organization hadn't gone down without a fight, he recalled. "Sam."

The other man paused, almost too far away to hear. "Yeah, Cas?"

"Whatever it is you need to face in there," he jerked a chin at the empty house. "You do it now. You get it over with. And you get your head back in the game."

The boss stared at him, the wind whipping his hair and coat, whistling through the fence. Finally, he spoke.

"You're dismissed."

Castiel nodded once. He placed a hand in his pocket, watching as Sam climbed the stone steps. He fingered the pistol there, doubt tinging his thoughts for the first time that day.

* * *

He covered Adam's body with a sheet. It was the best he could do under the circumstances; the warehouse had cleared most of Sam's men, but it didn't mean they'd gone without a fight. Dean didn't have the time to move his brother's body, so the sheet would do. It was better than Sam had done for Adam, that was sure.

For a second, he had to reconcile those dual images-Sam, smiling at him, just a few days ago, Dean's ring on his finger-and the look on his husband's face as he shot Adam; cold and absolutely unyielding. He tried to convince Dean, sure, but he'd gotten that glimpse-maybe the only glimpse he'd ever had of the true Sam. Had it all been a lie?

He looked down at his wedding band, flecked with blood. The phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. He grabbed it. "Winchester."

"I have the snipers set up. They're at the old Wesson mansion."

Dean paused, thinking it over. That was an interesting move. "I want Sam and Castiel. _Alive._ Collateral is fair game."

"Sir," across the line, Lillith paused. "There'll be a lot of collateral with this kind of hit. Are you sure?"

"I'm sorry, Lillith," Dean said softly, "Did you just question my judgement?"

The sniper was silent on the other end, a telling sign. Dean added a few more orders and hung up. He looked up to see Gabriel, a binder of paperwork in his hands. "Yeah?"

"I just found these in Adam's room…" Gabriel said, pausing as his eyes skittered across Adam's corpse, relocated to the couch. He seemed to realize he was the only one of Sam's men left-only because he was necessary. You couldn't run an operation without at least two lieutenants and...well, he was down at least one.

"You'll want to read them."

Dean grabbed the binder and tore through it, impatient. He found the documents Adam had referenced-the bank account and transfer between Sam and Brady. A smudge was on the corner of one of the sheets. He narrowed his eyes.

"It's a fake," Gabriel said when he remained silent. "Adam was lying about the transfer. I checked Sam's account."

Dean tilted his head, watching the lieutenant stare him down from across the desk. "Is this all?"

"It's all I found." Gabriel swallowed, the first sign of nerves. He nodded at the papers. "Dean, I think you're wrong about this. Sam-"

"Get out."

The lieutenant's mouth shut with a _click_. "What?"

"I said, _get out_." Dean gestured at the door. "You obviously have other allegiances, allegiances to _him-_ "

"Do you even _hear_ what you're saying?" Gabriel shouted, slamming his hands down on the desk. "Sam is your _husband_ , and you're plotting on how to torture him!"

"I'm not torturing Sam," Dean said darkly, rising to match Gabriel's gaze. "But I'm not going to withhold that punishment for spies."

"I'm not a spy." Gabriel grunted, teeth bared. He leaned forward. "And, so help me God, if you hurt Sam, I will _end_ you."

With that, the lieutenant left, slamming the door behind him. Dean returned to his desk, sliding a hand across the papers. Adam's body seemed to mock him from the couch. _Don't you see it?_

Dean grabbed his cellphone, scrolling down his contacts. Sam's number stared at him from the display. He almost pressed dial, then, reconsidering, threw the phone across the room.

* * *

The first thing that struck Sam about Wesson Mansion was its utter silence. The staircases and pillars were devoid of any life, stock-still in a room that hadn't seen life in over a year. He could still see the bloody footprints he'd left over by the south foyer, caked into brown dust by time.

He walked through the rooms like a ghost, trailing dust and sadness behind him. Gabriel had removed the bodies immediately, but the rest had stayed-the bullet casings, the blood splatters. He circled the first floor, avoiding the one room he knew he couldn't enter yet.

With Castiel's words ringing in his head, he grabbed the parlor doors and yanked. The front staircase enveloped his vision. He grabbed for the wall with a numb hand, searching for something to steady him-

" _I'm sure your father will be glad to see you-" Sam pushed past the butler, barely catching his words. "Mr. Wesson-but he is a little preoccupied at the moment-"_

" _Too busy to see his own son after three years?" Sam asked, hefting his bag over the threshold. He smirked at the servant. "I don't know if you understand, but I've been at college for three years. I want to see my parents. I want to see my brother, for chrissakes. Just kick out whatever petty crime lord he's meeting with."_

" _It's not that simple," the butler said, holding a hand out. Sam frowned until the man dropped it. "Please, just wait in the parlor for a few minutes. I'll have him right down, Mr. Wesson."_

_Sam bit his lip and turned away, dragging his bag with him. The parlor was as pristine as ever, his mother's handiwork evident in the carefully cut flowers on the table. The doors closed behind him rather suddenly, sliding on their tracks._

_He smiled despite his anger, carding through them carefully. The lilies released a delicate aroma, reminding him of home._

" _Alan, I-"_

_Sam's ears attuned quickly to the sound of his mother's voice. He turned inside the parlor, ready to surprise her. Two more voices joined his mother's. He smiled as he recognized Aidan's deeper tones, guessing the remaining speaker was Alan._

" _Betty, goddamnit, you come back here_ right _now!"_

" _Aidan, tell him he's wrong-"_

_Sam heard a grunt like someone had been hit, then a low laugh from his brother. Without a thought, he wrenched the parlor doors open and entered the main foyer._

_Alan had one of his mother's arms in a vice grip, Aidan mirroring him on the other side. Sam stepped into the shadows, eyes wide. His mother was sobbing silently, heaving in their arms. Bruises blackened her face. "Alan, please…."_

" _You fucking bitch," Alan muttered in her ear, shaking her, "Do you have any fucking_ idea _what was in that briefcase? Do you?!"_

_She shook her head, ducking as Alan's palm met her cheek in a vicious slap. A glimmer of rebelliousness shone in her eyes. A second later she kicked backwards, digging her heel into Alan's stomach. "I don't_ care _."_

_Alan stumbled backwards with a curse, grabbing at his stomach. Aidan followed, releasing his mother's arm. Before anyone could react, Alan surged forward, shoving Betty. "Bitch!"_

_Sam leapt forward, already knowing it was too late. His mother teetered on her heels before falling forward, headfirst. He watched in horror as she bounced down the stone staircase, rolling limply to a stop at the bottom. Blood coated the marble stairs. "Noooooo!"_

_Alan's face was set when he looked up, his mother's ruined head in his hands. Aidan stared down at him, shocked. His mother jerked once in his hands, then passed. Her final breath blew past Sam's face, rustling his hair._ No. No…

" _Now, Sam, son…" Alan said, running a hand through his hair. He took a step down the first stair, avoiding the blood splatters. "I don't know what you think you just saw-"_

Sam pushed off from the parlor door, taking a step into the room. The staircase was clean; it was the one thing he'd insisted on cleaning. He grabbed his gun from his pocket, just like he'd done a year ago. Held it in his hands. Watched the metal gleam in the darkness.

"I am not my father," he told himself, hands trembling slightly. He looked around the room. "I don't kill innocents."

He could almost see his mother's body at the bottom of the stairs, just a pile of fabric and wispy hair. They'd told everyone it was cancer. Like bruises and cuts came from chemo. _Christ_.

"I miss you, mom." He told the empty room. "I miss you...so much."

She would've held him in her arms until he could only smell her perfume. His eyes watered as he tried to remember the smell. Had it been that long? He couldn't even remember his mother's scent. He bit his lip as the tears overflowed, stinging down his cheeks.

"I am not my father," he told the room again, voice trembling. "And he got what he deserved."

He wiped his face roughly, putting his gun away. Shutting the parlor doors, he walked swiftly to the back doors. As he stepped into the remaining daylight, Castiel grabbed his shoulder.

"Gunfire reported at the west perimeter. Three snipers." The lieutenant made no reference to his red eyes. "They're here."

Sam let a breath out, turning towards the sunset.

"Let them come."


	31. Diamond Absolutes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick coda to the other chapter that I wanted to fit in. Sorry it's so short! There's more to come soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Sorry about the wait. Writer's block sure is something, isn't it? *holds out hands* Here, take this! *hides*

_**Before** _

_Sam pushed off from the parlor door, taking a step into the room. The staircase was clean; it was the one thing he'd insisted on cleaning. He grabbed his gun from his pocket, just like he'd done a year ago. Held it in his hands. Watched the metal gleam in the darkness._

_"I am not my father," he told himself, hands trembling slightly. He looked around the room. "I don't kill innocents."_

_He could almost see his mother's body at the bottom of the stairs, just a pile of fabric and wispy hair. They'd told everyone it was cancer. Like bruises and cuts came from chemo. Christ._

_"I miss you, mom." He told the empty room. "I miss you...so much."_

_She would've held him in her arms until he could only smell her perfume. His eyes watered as he tried to remember the smell. Had it been that long? He couldn't even remember his mother's scent. He bit his lip as the tears overflowed, stinging down his cheeks._

_"I am not my father," he told the room again, voice trembling. "And he got what he deserved."_

_He wiped his face roughly, putting his gun away. Shutting the parlor doors, he walked swiftly to the back. As he stepped into the remaining daylight, Castiel grabbed his shoulder._

_"Gunfire reported at the west perimeter. Three snipers." The lieutenant made no reference to his red eyes. "They're here."_

_Sam let a breath out, turning towards the sunset._

_"Let them come."_

* * *

_**Now** _

Castiel watched Sam's profile in the fading sunset, pausing. The younger man looked aged beyond his years, cowed by whatever he'd faced inside the mansion. Even as his mouth tightened in determination, there were lines around his eyes. For a second, Castiel wanted to strike Dean, draw blood in vicious blow after vicious blow. How dare he do this to Sam? To-to them?

Sam turned, breaking the illusion. Gunfire sounded off in the distance, a quick chatter of metal on metal. Castiel heard voices shouting in his earpiece and wished, desperately, that they would be quiet. "It sounds like they're being repelled."

"They're the diversion," Sam said simply, gaze hard and cold. For a second, Castiel was seeing the weathered boss and tactician-not _Sam_ -and it gave him pause. "Get a unit up here when they have a chance."

Castiel murmured his orders into the radio, hand brushing his holster. "If you knew Dean was going to come up here, why bother with the perimeter?"

Sam didn't answer, something close to anger behind his eyes. Castiel wasn't sure if he'd ever seen that look on the man before-not just anger, or irritation. Betrayal. Outrage of the deepest form.

"Are Alfie and Bobby safe?"

"They're still with Crowley." Castiel replied, tensing as the gunfire died off. "The rest are here."

"No news on Gabriel?"

Now that- _that_ stung. Gabriel. "Still with Dean, it seems."

"Looks can be deceiving." Sam murmured, still looking out across the gardens. _His_ lands, by technicality. Castiel frowned, a fission of irritation going through him.

Sam smiled mirthlessly at his expression, gesturing towards the west gate. "See?"

Gabriel's pale face reflected the light as he climbed the stone steps, hands outstretched. He had no weapons, or even a coat. His hair was mussed, like he'd fought his way up the stairs singlehandedly. Maybe he had.

Castiel moved to intercept the other man before he could get close to Sam, gun drawn. He felt anger boil up inside of him, and had to take a breath. "What are you doing here?"

Gabriel looked at him once, something awful in his eyes, then looked past him. He paled noticeably when he saw Sam, opening his mouth to speak. He seemed to think better of it, and, with an obvious show of submission, knelt.

Sam tilted his chin up, arrogant in his apathy. His eyes didn't leave Gabriel as he grabbed his gun. Castiel suddenly remembered the penalty for disloyalty-death-and shivered despite himself.

"Please," the other man said, after a moment, desperate. "Please."

What a picture the two of them made-Gabriel on his knees, eyes wide, facing almost certain death; Sam, dark coat whipping around him, an avenging angel so badly twisted, in his hand benediction and damnation, commingling. Castiel felt numb, so numb in that moment.

Sam tilted his head, considering the pleas. Gabriel jumped on the opportunity seeing-what? Forgiveness, in those cold hazel eyes?

"Please, Sam-"

With a brutal _crack,_ Sam whipped the pistol across his lieutenant's face, knocking him to the ground. Castiel stood by, mute, as Gabriel's face spurted blood onto the concrete.

"When you talk to me," Sam said viciously, so cold it made Castiel flinch, "You say _sir._ "

Gabriel moaned around the blood in his mouth, cradling what was most definitely a broken cheekbone. Sam glanced down at his lieutenant once, then stalked away. _This is mercy,_ Castiel reminded himself _._

He moved to follow, pausing for just a second at his lover's side.

Gabriel didn't look up at him, still prostrate on the concrete. He'd pick himself up soon. They had to. They all did.

He walked past without a second thought, trailing Sam. _We have work to do._


	32. Cheap Thrills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean meets Sam in more than one way. Castiel and Gabriel remain at odds. Lillith is done with Dean's shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Sorry about the long break. I was trying! College is hard :( Thanks for all the reviews and comments.

_**Before** _

_"Please," the other man said, after a moment, desperate. "Please."_

_What a picture the two of them made-Gabriel on his knees, eyes wide, facing almost certain death; Sam, dark coat whipping around him, an avenging angel so badly twisted, in his hand benediction and damnation, commingling. Castiel felt numb, so numb in that moment._

_Sam tilted his head, considering the pleas. Gabriel jumped on the opportunity seeing-what? Forgiveness, in those cold hazel eyes?_

_"Please, Sam-"_

_With a brutal crack, Sam whipped the pistol across his lieutenant's face, knocking him to the ground. Castiel stood by, mute, as Gabriel's face spurted blood onto the concrete._

_"When you talk to me," Sam said viciously, so cold it made Castiel flinch, "You say sir."_

_Gabriel moaned around the blood in his mouth, cradling what was most definitely a broken cheekbone. Sam glanced down at his lieutenant once, then stalked away. This is mercy, Castiel reminded himself._

_He moved to follow, pausing for just a second at his lover's side._

_Gabriel didn't look up at him, still prostrate on the concrete. He'd pick himself up soon. They had to. They all did._

_He walked past without a second thought, trailing Sam._ We have work to do.

* * *

_**Now** _

Sam held his gun in an iron grip, gazing across the front steps. He could see Lillith perched on a warehouse roof a half mile away, the only hint of her presence a glint of blonde hair against the smog. Gunshots rang out as foot soldiers battled it out on the lawn, darting between unkempt hedges and stone pathways.

Castiel joined him as the last of Dean's men fell, silent. Sam gestured at the men to bring back the two remaining combatants with a flick of his hand. They dragged the pair over, blood smearing the concrete a rusty brown.

"Are these it?"

"Yes sir," the soldier said, ducking his head. Sam jerked his chin and the guards dropped the two prisoners to the ground. The soldier who'd spoken kicked at the more conscious of the two, driving his boot between the man's ribs. " _Answer him_."

Sam balked at the familiar face at his feet. _Andy._ He squashed the guilt into a tiny box, only for it to come springing back out. His expression softened as he knelt next to the man. "Andy."

"S-Sam," the younger man bit out, shivering slightly. Sam examined him more closely and saw a spreading patch of blood on his chest. "S-Sam, I-" He coughed violently, shuddering. Scarlet droplets scattered across the ground. "S-Sam, am I gonna, gonna d-d-di-"

Sam grabbed his face gently, drawing his panicked sputtering back to him. He embraced him, clasping his head to his chest in a moment of clarity. "Shhh," he whispered, just barely audible. He pressed his lips to Andy's ear, guilt hot in his throat. "It was just a bad dream, Andy...Go to sleep."

Andy's eyes caught his, then dulled. He slumped in Sam's arms, a dead weight. Nobody spoke.

Sam placed Andy's body carefully on the ground. He turned to the last prisoner, thankful to find an unfamiliar face. He stood, pointing his gun between the man's eyes. "Talk. _Now_."

* * *

Dean ignored the ringing of the telephone, fixing his gaze on the wall behind his couch. Adam's body was long forgotten, if not completely erased from his memory; his eyes caught on the bullet holes in the plaster every time he looked up. Bullets. He'd shot at Sam-at Castiel. He tried to shoot them.

The bourbon in his glass didn't look anywhere near as appetizing as it had been an hour prior. He drank it anyway, biting back a groan as the liquid burned down his throat. Sam. _Sam._

He was torn between revulsion at himself, and a deepening anger. In desperation, he reached out and grabbed the phone on its last ring. "Where's Sam?"

"We have a _problem_!" Lillith cried, indignant. "Why the hell aren't you picking up your phone?"

He heard distant gunshots over the line, grimacing. "Not going well, huh?"

"Are you _drunk_?" Lillith roared, the sound of her rifle echoing down the connection. "We're dead in the water here! You hear me? Were fucking retreating, Dean!"

"Fine," he said, then hung up. He grabbed the bourbon and poured himself another glass, stomach turning at the sight of the amber liquid. "Fuck that. Whatever."

The warehouse was empty below him. Either his men had left to fight, or they'd defected to Sam. Either way, they weren't coming back. He wondered distantly where Benny was, then squashed that thought. He didn't care.

An hour and a half (and two thirds of the bottle) later, Lillith came stumbling through the warehouse door, hungry for blood. Two or three stragglers followed, wide-eyed.

Dean ignored Lilllith's admonishments and threats as one of the men stumbled forward, grabbing his arm. "What the fuck-"

"Navy pier," the man said urgently, tugging on his sleeve desperately. "M-Midnight."

Dean looked at Lillith over the soldier's head, who frowned. "What the hell is wrong with him?"

"Midnight," the man repeated, as if dazed, "Navy pier. Navy pier, midnight. Navy pier-"

Dean pushed him away roughly, biting down on his horror. "They-Sam-tortured him. Didn't they."

Lillith looked at him, saying nothing. Her gaze found him wanting; they both knew that. Dean grinned mirthlessly, drawing a clumsy palm around her waist.

She shoved his hand away, horrified. Her expression said it all. Dean bit down again and tasted blood this time, mixed with the bourbon and-

"Midnight," he repeated, sounding out the word. "Navy pier." He looked at Lillith. "Wanna come with? Sounds like a, like a hot date."

The sniper turned and walked away, an answer in and of itself. Dean watched her go, wavering a little on his feet.

_Sam_.

* * *

Navy pier was silent at midnight, all of its rides and flashing lights dampened, covered, forgotten. Shadows slid across the water, concealing more than what was actually there. It didn't help his jumpiness.

Gabriel pressed his back to one of the concrete walls by the bathrooms, willing his jaw to stop aching. He was sure it was broken, along with his cheekbone. He was lucky he hadn't lost teeth, a la _Godfather._

Sam's admonishment had been merciful, at the very least. Castiel had thrown a bag of ice his way a half hour earlier, though it hadn't done much. Gabriel wished it was the kind of pain that paled in comparison to the guilt he was carrying; in reality, both sucked astronomically. His face was a mess of nerves and bruises. His dignity was holding on by a shred. His relationships, his rapports-all gone. Castiel hadn't even so much as _looked_ at him.

The only person Sam and Castiel probably hated more than him at the moment was Dean. Gabriel hadn't been read in on that plan-not even close-but he shuddered to think what Sam had in store for the other boss.

He'd never seen Sam like this, save for the immediate aftermath of his mother's death. Even then, the shadows in his eyes had disappeared fairly quickly-beckoned away by work, management, coordination. Things that got _Sam's_ brain working. The man who'd pistol-whipped him into submission without a word? Gabriel didn't recognize that man at all.

Sam's loyalists milled around him silently, setting up vantage points around the abandoned pier. He could just make out Castiel's profile a few hundred feet above him, patrolling the restaurant where Sam had settled in to wait. _Always the loyal soldier..._ he thought bitterly, biting down on his groan as another wave of pain rolled through him. Could you die from a broken face? Probably fucking not.

He remembered vaguely that Sam had been shot trying to escape from Adam. Castiel had taken care of him then. He felt a small twinge of satisfaction at that. Sam had been in good hands all along-even if he'd ignored the warning signs about Adam-even if he'd refused to see what was really in front of him.

Had Adam really been a cop, or was that just a ploy to get close to Dean after the shooting? And, most importantly-Why didn't he believe Sam?

One of the guards muttered something into his comm, startling him. He looked up from the wall to see a distant figure approaching, seemingly alone. _Dean_.

"I hope you know what you're doing," he muttered to Sam's shadow, two balconies above him. He looked across at Dean's outline, wondering if it was going to be their last meeting. He wouldn't blame Sam. Sam would blame himself all by himself. Whoever was in charge now-now, that was a different story. Was Adam worth the end of the Winchester-Wesson empire?

It hadn't been Adam, he mused. Adam was just the catalyst. There had always been an undercurrent of distrust between the two husbands, in love or not. They were both used to running things their way-Sam had rolled over for Dean more times than either could count. But that wasn't who he was deep down. No. Sam was so much stronger than that. Dean was about to realize just as much.

"You got a gun?" the guard next to him grunted, an unfamiliar face. Gabriel longed for something familiar in that second-Benny, Cas, someone-and bit his lip. The motion jarred through him, and this time, he did groan.

"Man, you're fucked up," the guard remarked, handing him a pistol wordlessly. "Who hit you?"

Gabriel narrowed his eyes, gritting his teeth against the pain. "Your boss."

"You musta' deserved it."

He checked the safety and the ammo, fingers numb against the metal.

"Must have."

* * *

He was still drunk when he broke through the east gate, fumbling with the pick and just shooting the damn lock after a minute. It was easier, and ammo was cheap. Wasn't like Sam wasn't expecting him…

He laughed a little at that double negative. Usually he was a maudlin drunk. This was strange.

The park was eerily silent, nothing like what he remembered from summers spent on the lake. Scraping together quarters for the rides, stealing from whoever was dumb enough to leave their wallet hanging out of their back pocket. Things would have been easier if he'd just died on the street. Plain and simple.

Here he was, though. Drunk, stumbling, numb. He had to piss, vaguely. That wasn't a good sign. He couldn't even remember what Sam was mad about anymore, couldn't remember what he'd been so _pissed_ about either. Adam's face flashed across his sight briefly, and he almost stumbled again. _Adam._ Fuck Adam. Fuck Sam.

That was his job, he thought. He was almost to the center of the park, not drunk enough to miss the sentries on either side. He saluted one of them, grinning wildly. Maybe Castiel was here-

Cas. He'd left with Sam. Had they been-

No, he told himself, forcing each step. He sidestepped a piece of gum, staring at it longer than he needed to. That would never happen. Sam was-

Sam was right in front of him, suddenly, his face catching the shuttered light of the streetlamps. He looked utterly ethereal for a moment, pale face framed by dark hair. His eyes were almost black in the light. "Sammy."

Sammy- _Sam_ -tilted his head, face blank.

"Dean."

* * *

He was drunk-there was no other reason to smile that wide, or grin that stupidly. His hair was flattened on one side, like he'd slept on it. Red rimmed eyes flicked away from his, wandering over his clothing. He looked so beautiful, so stupidly _Dean_ that it made his heart ache.

"You're drunk."

"Well, yeah.." Dean spread his arms wide, raising an eyebrow. "You bring friends, Sammy? They wanna play?"

There was a gun tucked into his waistband, though he didn't move for it. Sam didn't respond. The other man chuckled awkwardly, swaying on his feet. "Be like that….and I still dragged my ass out here at three in the fuckin' morning…"

"Do you know why you're here?" He asked, genuinely curious. "Dean. Look at me."

Dean's eyes trailed from his sling back to his face, worried. "Who-uh, who hurt you?"

"Adam," Sam replied calmly. "Adam did."

"You killed him." Something in Dean's face darkened, even if his features didn't move. "You killed Adam."

"I did," Sam said, taking a step forward. Dean hesitated, but didn't retreat. He felt the anger he'd clamped down flow freely for the first time, bleeding into his tone. "I did, and if I had to go back in time, I'd kill him again a million times over."

Dean's lips twitched. His face twisted. "That's not very nice."

"I'm not," Sam said flippantly, taking another step forward. Dean didn't move, allowing him to enter his personal space, press his hand against his heart, without a word of protest. He felt Dean hot against his leg, pressed against him, and bit out a laugh despite himself. "You still want me, Dean? After all of this?"

Dean's eyes were cold when he looked back up, boring into him. "I hate you."

"Good," Sam said, signalling Castiel behind Dean's shoulder. He leaned close, pressing his lips to the shell of his husband's ear, seductively close. " _Me too._ "

With a bit-off groan, Dean slumped to the ground. A small tranq dart was embedded between his shoulder blades. Sam gathered him close, lifting his prone form from the ground. His husband's eyes fluttered once, then shut completely.

* * *

Dean woke with his arms above him. His fingers stung with pins and needles, close to numb. There was a heat in his shoulders that suggested he'd been in this position for a while. He looked up, head aching, to find his arms chained to a pipe above him. His feet barely scraped the floor below, offering a brief respite to the strain in his muscles. He wasn't in their basement, back at the warehouse, that much was for sure. The room was utterly unfamiliar.

A door in the corner scraped open, making him groan as light hit him. How much had he had to drink? His mouth was bitter, his head throbbing. He didn't know which he hated more-the sourness of his stomach, or the fear that went through him when he saw Sam's face a moment later. _Sam._

"How's the hangover?"

He almost let himself smile back, hating the small smile that graced his husband's features. It was fake. All of it. But Sam's eyes were his drug, his poison, and he shifted against his chains in lieu of answering. Sam shrugged once, fluidly.

Dean noted he'd taken off his sling, the black coat missing as well. Sam wore a tight black sweater with the sleeves rolled up, revealing corded muscles. His jeans were a second skin, dark and inviting. He stood with his legs braced apart, radiating assured strength. Dean felt himself getting turned on and groaned into his shoulder.

"That bad, huh?" Sam asked congenially, tilting his head. He must have learned that motion from Castiel. He moved behind Dean, shifting something around on a table out of sight. He heard the clink of metal on metal, and refused to fall for the scare tactic. "Remember anything from last night?"

"It's morning?" He asked, voice coming out hoarse. Christ, but his head hurt. Sam smiled condescendingly.

"Five-forty-five AM, to be exact," the other man said, walking back to stand in front of him. Dean's heart started to beat rapidly as Sam stood right between his dangling legs, expression angelic. "I asked you earlier, but I guess I'll do it again when you're sober. Any idea why you're here?"

Dean narrowed his eyes. "You killed my men."

"Wrong." Sam's expression darkened briefly, like Dean wasn't playing along. "You sent them to die. Don't bullshit me, Dean."

"I wasn't."

Sam laughed sharply, a short burst of indignation. "You always were. You just can't get past your own lies. Isn't that right?"

"I don't know what the hell you think you're doing," Dean said, matching Sam's anger and squaring his shoulders, "But you need to let me go _now_."

"I do?" Sam asked, eyes wide. Dean couldn't back up as Sam drew closer, a hair's breadth between their bodies. "You're not in charge here. You were never in charge."

Dean swung out with his legs in a fit of anger, wrapping them around Sam's waist and trying to throw him across the floor. Sam laughed and grabbed onto his waist, dragging him closer. Try as he did, he couldn't budge the other man. And now, his legs wrapped around his husband, all he could think was-

"Oh, I missed this," Sam said, and Dean could read the honesty in that statement. "You were too busy hanging out with Adam. You know we haven't had sex in a month? _A month_ , Dean."

Couldn't be true, Dean told himself, skin growing hot as Sam skittered a hand across the front of his jeans. Maybe this was all Sam wanted-a quick fuck, then things were back to normal. "I d-didn't know that."

"And you accuse _me_ of infidelity," Sam said, his good mood shifting. He threw Dean back like a piece of garbage, the front of his jeans flat as normal. Dean looked down guiltily, and Sam followed his gaze. "Hard? How embarrassing for you, Dean."

"You're a son of a bitch, you know that?" He ground out, straining against the chains. He wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. Permanently. "As soon as I'm out of these chains, I'm going to-"

"You'll what?" Sam asked flippantly, taking a step back. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back. "Your men are mine. Your house is in my name. You have no power here. You're lucky if I ever let you ever touch me again."

Now that, _that_ hit him. He felt something burn in his chest as he looked at Sam's wedding ring. "You don't mean that." He whispered, crushed.

Sam gazed at him, unmoved. He smiled briefly, but he couldn't see _Sammy_ anywhere in those eyes. "I do."

Dean watched as the other man turned and walked away, getting the impression that he was seeing a side of his husband he'd never met. How had Sam worked before they'd merged? _Force,_ he remembered Castiel telling him. _Ruthless efficiency._ Samuel Wesson, living up to his birthright. He felt something cold slip down his spine and called out despite himself. "Wait!"

Sam didn't look back, hand on the doorknob. "What?"

"I'm sorry about Adam. I'm sorry I doubted you. I'm _sorry,_ Sam."

"No, you're not." the boss said, opening the door. He looked back, hazel eyes flashing in the low light. "You're just feeling guilty. Or is the Great Dean Winchester _scared_?"

"Fuck you," Dean hissed, dropping the innocent act. He strained against the chains again, swinging. "Fuck you, you son of a bitch!"

"In your dreams," Sam chuckled, opening the door. "If you're good." He added.

The door slammed shut behind him. Dean let out a yell that bounced back, mocking him.

" _SAM_!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Leave me a comment! I'm kind of curious whose side everyone is on. I'm team Benny for sure. He's probably getting high somewhere with Jo and staying out of it.


	33. Love Lockdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean come to terms about their future. Benny and Jo finally get their interlude. Castiel says some questionable but well-meant things to Dean. Alfie discovers something important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Fair warning, this chapter has some mentions/descriptions of suicidal thoughts/ideations and some ambiguous actions. Please be advised. If you don't want to read those parts, just skip over the scene with Alfie (towards the end). I'm sorry this is so dark-can you believe this started as crack?
> 
> Thanks for all the reviews and follows. I'm sorry I've been so crappy with updating.

_**Before** _

_"You're a son of a bitch, you know that?" He ground out, straining against the chains. He wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. Permanently. "As soon as I'm out of these chains, I'm going to-"_

_"You'll what?" Sam asked flippantly, taking a step back. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back. "Your men are mine. Your house is in my name. You have no power here. You're lucky if I ever let you ever touch me again."_

_Now that, that hit him. He felt something burn in his chest as he looked at Sam's wedding ring. "You don't mean that." He whispered, crushed._

_Sam gazed at him, unmoved. He smiled briefly, but he couldn't see Sammy anywhere in those eyes. "I do."_

_Dean watched as the other man turned and walked away, getting the impression that he was seeing a side of his husband he'd never met. How had Sam worked before they'd merged? Force, he remembered Castiel telling him. Ruthless efficiency. Samuel Wesson, living up to his birthright. He felt something cold slip down his spine and called out despite himself. "Wait!"_

_Sam didn't look back, hand on the doorknob. "What?"_

_"I'm sorry about Adam. I'm sorry I doubted you. I'm sorry, Sam."_

_"No, you're not." the boss said, opening the door. He looked back, hazel eyes flashing in the low light. "You're just feeling guilty. Or is the Great Dean Winchester scared?"_

_"Fuck you," Dean hissed, dropping the innocent act. He strained against the chains again, swinging. "Fuck you, you son of a bitch!"_

_"In your dreams," Sam chuckled, opening the door. "If you're good." He added._

_The door slammed shut behind him. Dean let out a yell that bounced back, mocking him._

_"SAM!_

* * *

_**Now** _

Dean tested the handcuffs for the millionth time that day, ignoring how they chafed against his wrists. They were getting close to breaking the skin, and he knew Sam wouldn't give a damn if he started bleeding. It'd been hours since Sam had seen him last, and it had to be night by now.

Oh, and didn't that sting? Sam didn't care. If he did, it was well-concealed. He'd thought his husband would have fallen for his lies, but Sam was so much smarter than that. He'd seen right through it.

_We haven't had sex in a month,_ Sam had said, sneering. _And you accuse me of infidelity._

Dean closed his eyes, turning away from the memory of his husband. It was like Sam was still right there next to him leaning close-

_Oh, I missed this,_ Sam purred in his ear, just above a whisper. _Dean, Dean…_

"Fuck you," he hissed, shaking his head to clear it. The Sam in his mind looked on disapprovingly, a small smirk on his lips. "Why are you doing this to me?"

_Because it's fun?_ Sam laughed, a peal of brightness in the dark basement. _Why do you torture people, Dean?_

"I'm not seeing any real torture," Dean muttered, glaring at the door and not the grinning man. "Just a lot of grandstanding and dramatic exits."

_That's more your thing, isn't it?_ Not-Sam asked him, a sympathetic look in his eyes. Liar. _You're just desperate for me to come back._

"No, I'm fine just...hanging out." Dean shook his chains, making his point. Jesus, but his shoulders were burning. "Get it? _Hanging_ out?"

"Hilarious."

Dean's head swung back to the door. Sam was three feet from him, hands in his pockets. He hadn't even heard him come in. Creepy. "I am the funny one."

"Talking to yourself, Dean?" Sam had changed-he was in bootcut jeans and a white shirt, the first few buttons undone. He knew what Sam in white did to him-he knew, and he was using it for all it was worth. "That's not a good sign."

Dean shrugged, or as much as he could with his arms above him. "What do you want, Sam?"

Sam's eyes bored into him, and he flinched a little. A hand settled on his ankle, making him frown. "I can't say hello to my husband?"

"Usually I'm into bondage play, sweetheart," Dean said, bitter. He shook his hands for show. "But my shoulders are beginning to go numb. I know foreplay when I see it. Get your hand off me."

Sam studied him, tilting his head in a way that was eerily reminiscent of Castiel. His hand burned where it circled his ankle. "I've made my decision."

Dean kept his face blank, impassive. "And?"

"I'm letting you go." Sam looked up at him, a ghost of a smile on his lips. His hair fell into his eyes, and for a second he looked so young it made his heart hurt. "You've made your choices. You've shown me where your allegiances lie. And it's with family…"

Dean watched him trail off, heart thudding. "I can't forgive you for killing Adam."

"You didn't know him." Sam said, measured. "You didn't see what he was doing to me-to us. And you refuse to even look at the evidence now when it's all said and done. You refuse to believe me...your husband." He smiled painfully. "So I guess we're at an impasse."

"No torture?" Dean asked bluntly, shaking his manacles for effect. "No punishment? C'mon, Sam. I taught you better than this."

It was false bravado, covering the painful twinge Sam's crestfallen face evoked in him. Sam seemed to see right through it, like usual. "I could...but I won't. You've punished yourself enough."

His husband backed up, not letting him respond. His hand left Dean's ankle, and the second his touch was gone he ached for it, Sam, Sam, He just wanted to wrap the other man up in his arms, hold him tight and murmur into the crook of his neck, _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, you're safe, this will never happen again-_

Adam. It all came down to Adam. His body was probably still on Dean's couch-undoubtedly rotting by now, covered by a bloodstained sheet in an empty warehouse. If he cared so much about Adam, he would have-

Would have what? Buried him? Mourned him, like John? He hardly knew Adam, Sam was right. But the younger man's death still tugged at him, made him feel _responsible,_ protective, vengeful. Reminded him that Dean Winchester was a powerful man, the means to do almost anything at the palm of his hand.

And yet-the one thing he wanted was standing right there, two feet in front of him. And nothing he could say would make him stay.

"Sam," he bit out, in a lower register than he'd intended. He could see the other man's pupils dilate slightly in response. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry I'm leaving," Sam said immediately, still backing up. "Not for what you did. There's still a difference."

"You're acting like I'm never going to see you again," Dean rebutted. "You're making this some big, dramatic thing about-"

"I can't deal with this," Sam's eyes flashed, and Dean knew he'd hit flesh with that one. "Goodbye, Dean...Hopefully not for forever."

He stepped out with little fanfare, speaking in low tones with someone in the hallway. A few footsteps, the slam of a door, and everything was silent again.

When he looked up a moment later, Castiel was in the room. The lieutenant stood next to the door, absolutely silent. His hands were behind his back, echoing the formal pose he'd used to wear around Dean when they'd first begun working together.

"Are you here to say goodbye too?" Dean asked sarcastically, swinging his chains a little. "Because I have nothing to say to you. Absolutely fucking nothing."

"Sam asked me to release you and escort you outside," Castiel said calmly, moving towards him. Dean raised an eyebrow, refusing to be intimidated. "He is a far more merciful man than you realize."

A fist drove into his solar plexus before he could even see it, knocking the wind out of him. He doubled over, choking on the pain. He retched a little as Castiel hit him in the stomach, feeling nausea rack through him. "Wha-"

"You son of a bitch," Castiel swore, voice like ice. He grabbed Dean's hair, dragging his head up. "Do you have any idea what you just lost?"

Dean blinked up at him, wiping his mouth on his shirt. "Do you have any idea who you're talking to?"

His head snapped to the side as Castiel hit him again, knocking into the pipe he was chained to. He gasped as the lieutenant picked him up by the throat, displaying impressive strength and control.

"I'm speaking to the wreck of a man I used to admire," Castiel hissed in his ear, squeezing his neck slowly, choking him. "You idiot. Sam Wesson was the best thing that ever happened to you, and you're throwing him away like some infant having a tantrum. You used to be _smart_ , Dean."

"Get your hands off me," Dean choked out, face turning red. He began to see stars at the corner of his vision and kicked out. Castiel grabbed his leg instead and twisted it. Dean gasped, feeling his bones creak. "Get the hell off of me!"

Castiel punched him again in the stomach, grabbing a key calmly as he curled around himself, undoing the chains that held him up. The handcuffs remained in place, still binding his arms together. He dropped unceremoniously to the floor, groaning as he jarred into the concrete. A foot slammed into his ribs, picking him up off the floor a little.

"I could break every single one of your ribs before you died," Castiel said calmly, following him as he tried to crawl away. "Do you know how you die from that, Dean? You drown in your own blood."

"What's your p-point," he gritted, letting out a bit-off scream when Castiel kicked him again. "You g-getting off on this, Cas?"

"You want to make this about dominance?" Castiel asked, a touch of amusement in his voice. He leaned down and pulled Dean up by his collar, bringing them face to face. "I could take your place easily. Sam could be mine in less than a month. He _trusts_ me." The lieutenant's face changed, the expression turning cruel. "Who knows? He might even let me into his bed."

Dean felt himself pale, going white with rage. "You bastard."

"I'd make him cry my name every night…" Castiel continued, voice hitting that timbre that made Dean shiver. "He wouldn't even remember you. Why should he?"

Dean struggled against him, seeing red. "You fucking _bastard_ -"

Castiel grinned, bitter. "Can you imagine him like that, Dean? All strung out and pretty in your bed, gasping, clutching at the sheets and _moaning_ my name so loud, the whole warehouse could hear it-"

Dean kicked him in the side, _hard_ , and only seemed to make the man wince. Castiel let out a chuckle and threw him against the wall, not bothering to catch him. He slid down to the floor, ribs aching so bad he almost cried out again. " _F_ -fuck you…"

"So here's what you'll do," Castiel said, calm again. He kneeled in front of Dean, blue eyes wide with false sympathy. "You crawl all the way up these stairs in this house that Sam hates. You prostrate yourself at his feet and you _beg_ for his forgiveness."

Dean looked away, breathing as heavily as he dared. "Then…"

"You take whatever he gives you," Castiel said, standing. "And you hope to God I never make good on my promise. That's all you have left."

The room was silent as the lieutenant left. Dean groaned as his ribs throbbed, feeling blood in his mouth, between his teeth, running down his chin.

"Fuck," he said to the empty room. " _Fuck_."

* * *

Jo woke to the sound of William crying. She knew it wasn't John immediately-he was such a quiet baby, a lot like his namesake. William was a little more cranky-a lot like Jo, if she was being honest-and he had a gift for waking her up.

She rolled out of bed completely before it kicked in that she wasn't at the warehouse. It was her childhood bed, which meant this was home. Everything came back in a heartbeat-Benny dropping her and the twins off here yesterday, her mom's face when she'd found out-

Her mother was probably already up, making faces at her grandchildren already. She insisted she wasn't the type of woman to do that sort of thing, whatever that meant. She'd caught the older woman playing with John and Will more often than not the past few hours…

By the time Jo got to the guest room that was doubling as an impromptu nursery, someone had already quieted Will. She stepped into the room, expecting to see her mother.

"Benny?"

The lieutenant turned around slowly, cradling Will in his arms. He put a finger to his lips and set him back down in his crib. She watched him like a hawk, utterly confused.

"What are you doing here?" she asked when they were back in the hallway, still whispering. She felt, suddenly, like she was 16 again and sneaking boys into her room, about to be caught by her mother.

"I wanted to make sure you guys were okay," Benny said quietly, leaning against the wall. His face was shadowed, shuttered light from the streetlamps creeping in. "Will was crying and I didn't want you to wake up…"

"You're sweet," Jo said sincerely, laying a hand on his shoulder. "I….I just. I don't know…"

Benny put his arm around her as she felt tears leak out, burying her head in his shoulder. "I'm sorry. This is so stupid. I don't know why I'm crying."

"Things have been pretty scary recently," Benny said quietly, rubbing her back. The gentleman that he was, his touch never strayed anywhere below her shoulders. "It's okay to cry. Hell, I wanna cry after yesterday."

"What happened?" Jo asked Benny's shoulder, voice muffled. "Is Dean even alive?"

"Sam has him. Everyone else surrendered." Benny took a deep breath, and she felt his heart speed up. "I...I don't know what's going to happen, Jo. That's what's so scary."

Jo pressed her face even further into his coat, refusing to budge. "We're going to be okay. Sam will figure something out."

"He always does." Benny trailed off, still rubbing her shoulders. "Hey."

Jo looked up, blinking owlishly. "Yeah?"

"You alright?"

"I'm fine." Jo said, steeling herself. "Wanna find out for yourself?"

Benny went still, face frozen. "I'm sorry?"

"Was that too forward? Oh god." Jo buried her face into Benny's shoulder again before he could see it turn red. "I'm so sorry. Ignore me. Please."

"Jo," Benny grabbed her gently, extracting her from his coat sleeve. "Oh my God. You're adorable."

"Full disclosure, I'm like, maybe a lot in love with you." Jo blurted out, feeling her cheeks heat up. "So...yeah."

"Full disclosure," Benny said, quiet. "I might just kiss you."

"Full disclosure, I am totally into that."

He leaned down, pressing soft lips to hers in a chaste kiss. She didn't buy that for a second, deepening the kiss, bringing him closer to her. She moaned as her hips grazed his, putting a hand around his neck.

He growled and pushed her back into the wall, kissing her desperately. They were both breathing heavily when they broke apart. Jo looked at him and kicked her bedroom door open, raising an eyebrow.

"Think we can have half an hour before the twins wake up?"

Benny smiled down at her. "You read my mind, sweetheart."

* * *

Alfie knocked on Sam's door hesitantly. The second his hand hit wood, he regretted even coming upstairs. The boss was probably busy-lord knew he had enough on his plate right now. It was stupid, and he was definitely an idiot-who went and knocked on someone's door at three in the morning anyway?

"Sam?"

There was no answer. Of course not. He was probably sleeping, like normal people.

His head hit the door with a thunk while he questioned his life choices. Who else could he talk to this late at night? Castiel? No, the man had enough problems as well. Dean? Ha, that was funny.

Alfie backed up from the door, getting ready to make his escape. A soft sob caught his attention, making him freeze.

"Sam?"

There it was again. Barely louder than a gasp. If Alfie hadn't been pressed against the door, he never would have heard it. "Sam, are you okay?"

There was no one staying up on this wing. It was like a mausoleum, this mansion. Only Sam had been brave enough to take a solitary room on the third floor; everyone else had clustered together on the first. "Sam?"

He pushed the door open and spotted Sam immediately. The boss was laying against the far wall, a bottle of whiskey between his legs. Blood ran freely from both wrists, splayed out to either side. Alfie swore harshly and hurried in.

"Sam," he said firmly, grabbing the man's face. He shook him once, rewarded with a hazy glare a second later. "Sam, wake up."

The boss groaned slightly as Alfie examined his wounds. Okay, that was a good sign. He picked up one of Sam's wrists, examining it gently. Not deep-but there was a lot of blood. Most likely the alcohol.

A small knife fell from Sam's palm when he shifted it. He carefully kicked it away, looking at the second wrist. "You're lucky these aren't deep."

"I couldn't get the second one right," Sam muttered darkly, eyes at half-mast. "My hand was, uh, trembling too much. So I gave up. I wasn't trying to kill myself. I have a gun. I'm not an idiot."

Alfie checked his pulse, cataloguing the man's red-rimmed eyes, and made a decision. "Wait here. Don't move. _Understand_?"

"I'm depressed, not dumb." Sam said evenly, but he gave a curt nod. Alfie practically ran for his life down the stairs, grabbing his first aid kit from his room and hurrying back.

Sam hadn't moved at all in the interim, still slumped against the wall. Alfie cleaned the cuts and bandaged them quickly, glad they didn't need stitches. Sam's eyes drifted over his work as he finished bandaging, locking onto the bottle next to his foot.

"No," Alfie said, pushing it out of the way. Sam sighed, leaning back. He took his wrists back and folded his arms around himself. He looked broken. Alfie wanted to hit something. "Sam."

"Mhmm," Sam seemed to realize he was still in the room, and sat up a little too quickly. A smile flickered across his face, and he was trying so hard, Alfie could tell. "Oh. Yeah. Alfie. What are you doing here? Can I, uh, help you with something?"

He stood, wobbling only a little on his feet. After an awkward second, he settled behind his desk, looking up at him expectantly. Alfie did a double take.

"Are you alright, Sam?"

"I'm fine," Sam said curtly, a small frown disappearing into a false smile. "You needed something?"

"I need you to sit down and have a serious talk with me about what just happened," Alfie said, carefully taking a seat in front of the desk. "And I need you to be honest with me."

"I'm fine." Sam repeated. Alfie shook his head. "I _am_."

"'Fine' isn't anywhere close to covering suicide," Alfie said. The man flinched once, hiding it well. "It's an ugly word, isn't it?"

"No one can know," Sam said, just above a whisper. His hand shook as he moved it to cover his eyes. "Not even Cas."

"As your Doctor, I have a responsibility to inform others when you might be a danger to yourself," Alfie said seriously. "Our Doctor-Patient relationship is confidential. But not when you might hurt yourself, Sam."

"I wasn't trying to kill myself," Sam muttered, looking dazed. "Christ, I'm drunk right now."

He looked like it. Actually, he looked like shit. His eyes were sunken and dark, his skin taking on a pallor Alfie didn't like at all. Had he lost weight?

"That's not an excuse," Alfie said. He rose from his seat, taking carefully telegraphed steps towards the other man. He laid a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Sam. This wasn't…"

For a moment, he struggled for a word that wouldn't sound awful coming out. Healthy? Right? Good?

"I'm going to beat the shit out of Dean." Alfie said after a moment, pulling Sam into a light hug. The other man returned it after a second, hands tightening around him. "Whatever he did. I'm so sorry, Sam."

"I think there's a line." Sam said, muffled against his shirt. "Castiel is at the front, then Gabriel, then Lillith…"

"Of course there's a line," Alfie said, laughing for just a second, feeling the mood lighten. "Jesus, Sam. You're going to be okay. I swear. We're going to be okay."

"When did you get so optimistic?" Sam asked, looking up at him. Alfie smiled.

"When two yahoos came into my ER and showed me that there were still good men in this world." he replied, honest. "When you welcomed me into your family unquestioningly, and showed me how much you care about the world, Sam."

"Jeez, if I'd known you were so sentimental, I would've gotten Dean to give you the Ferrari after all." Sam joked, looking at him with genuine affection. "I'm...sorry."

"The Porsche was fine, Sam!" Alfie said, laughing. "Really."

"No, I meant about...tonight." the other man shrugged, eyes skittering over the bottle back on the carpet. "I don't know what came over me."

"We're always here for you," Alfie said, making sure Sam was looking straight at him. "Every minute of every day. You need help, we'll come. That's how it is."

"Yeah?" Sam asked weakly.

"Family does that," Alfie said, tapping him on the chest. "We all come together in the end."

"Family." Sam repeated, shaking his head. His eyes were clearer, and there was even a little color in his cheeks. "What are the odds you'll let me go back to sleep without going down to the med bay?"

"Slim to none," Alfie said, standing. "Up and at 'em. We're getting you a full workup."

"Yes, Mom."

Alfie took one last look at the bloodstains on the carpet and felt himself tense up. He focused on Sam, smirking in the doorway, and pointed towards the stairs.

"If you're nice, I'll give you a lollipop."

"Was that an innuendo?"

"Gross! No! Sam-stop laughing. Stop laughing right now."


	34. Singularity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam keeps on keeping on. Castiel is kind of a dick. Dean finds help in an unlikely ally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N A quick update to tie some things together before Christmas! Happy Holidays to everyone!

_**Before** _

_And yet-the one thing he wanted was standing right there, two feet in front of him. And nothing he could say would make him stay._

_"Sam," he bit out, in a lower register than he'd intended. He could see the other man's pupils dilate slightly in response. "I'm sorry."_

_"You're sorry I'm leaving," Sam said immediately, still backing up. "Not for what you did. There's still a difference."_

_"You're acting like I'm never going to see you again," Dean rebutted. "You're making this some big, dramatic thing about-"_

_"I can't deal with this," Sam's eyes flashed, and Dean knew he'd hit flesh with that one. "Goodbye, Dean...Hopefully not for forever."_

_He stepped out with little fanfare, speaking in low tones with someone in the hallway. A few footsteps, the slam of a door, and everything was silent again._

* * *

_**Now** _

"You've got problems on the South Side."

Sam looked away from his lieutenant, rubbing a hand across his face. "When don't I have problems on the South Side?"

"Never," Gabriel muttered to his right, slouching in one of his desk chairs. Castiel was standing ramrod-straight behind him, at attention. Even so, he let a dismissive glare slip towards the other man. "What are you looking at?"

Castiel met his eyes, face blank. "Insubordinance."

"Cut it out, Gabriel." Sam ordered, leaning back. Across his desk, the two lieutenants looked more haggard than ever. He examined them a little more carefully, noticing the tension between the pair. "What are you even doing here in the first place? This is a strategy meeting."

Gabriel's gaze didn't betray the hint of betrayal those words caused, but Sam could see it in body language. The man's posture drooped, and his legs slid off Sam's desk. "Benny's MIA."

"So?"

"So," Gabriel steeled himself, meeting Sam's gaze evenly. "I'm not leaving my boss without a lieutenant. Like it or not, I'm the strategy. You need me."

Castiel's eyes burned over Gabriel's shoulder, an unspeakable emotion sliding across his face, gone as soon as it was there. Sam felt dizzy for a second and reached for the bottle of water under his desk, a wave of guilt buzzing through him.

"Fine," he said after he'd drunk enough to see straight again. "Gabriel can stay. Talk to me about the Southside gangs. Now."

Castiel's gaze caught on his sleeves as he put the bottle away. Sam kept his face impassive, praying the other man wouldn't say anything. He couldn't know. How could he? "Our shipments through the Bucker Pier are coming up short. Not suspiciously so...but over a few months, and with careful attention to the net totals.."

Sam frowned. "They're skimming. There's no other explanation."

"This doesn't hurt you significantly…" Castiel trailed off again, which was very uncharacteristic of him. His eyes kept flitting to Gabriel, then away just as quickly. "But I heard from a source last night that they've been reselling our product at a much more...competitive...rate."

"Fuck." Sam said, in lieu of answering. He looked "Of course they're doing this right now."

"Your city is restless," Gabriel said cryptically, looking up from his hands. "Get it under control, or it'll buck you off."

" _My_ city?" Sam asked, incredulous. "No, this is….I…"

The two lieutenants stared at him, wearing identical expressions. It was eerie.

"Get me a strike team," Sam said, standing. He pointed at Gabriel. "Since you're so keen to win favor again, you can do recon until tonight. We're intaking this shipment personally."

"How many men?" Castiel asked, shifting so Gabriel could exit. Sam didn't miss how Gabriel avoided the other man's touch as well, going as far as pressing himself against the wall so he didn't brush against the other lieutenant.

Sam sighed, sitting back down as a second wave of dizziness hit him. He still hadn't slept since Alfie had left, and it seemed to be taking its toll now. "Twenty. I'll come with."

"Sir, I-"

"Yes?" Sam interrupted, turning to shuffle a few papers behind that god-awful desk. "What is it, Castiel?"

"Are you alright?" Cas asked, peering at him. Sam could feel his gaze roving up and down his body, checking for obvious injuries. He went still, fear pounding through him. Something about his gaze was almost...predatory?

"I'm fine," Sam said, turning back to the lieutenant. "Task you crew. I don't want to be underprepared."

"Of course."

Once the lieutenant was gone, Sam let his head fall into his hands. He should rest. He could practically hear Alfie yammering in his ear. With a twinge of pain, he peeled one of the bandages at his wrist up a little, looking at the cuts.

_What the hell, Sam?_ Dean was roaring in his ear. _What the fuck did you do?_

He jerked his wrist back with a grunt of pain. Fine. If Castiel could deal with utter heartbreak and still work with Gabriel, then Sam could do the same.

* * *

"Oh no." Crowley said, looking horrified. "This is not happening. No. No."

Dean pushed past him into the apartment, ignoring the man's protests. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but I'm afraid it is."

"What the hell are you even _doing_ here?" the lawyer asked, hurrying along behind him. "Sam was-"

"Sam let me go," Dean said, walking around the lavishly-furnished apartment, kicking at the rugs. His clothes were bloody and ripped, covered in grime like he'd been wearing them for days. "Just...like that."

"O….kay…" Crowley said nervously. "Great. Let's cut our losses while we can, and get out of my apartment, yes?"

"No," Dean looked up from the rug, frowning. "You're going to help me get him back."

"It's called a reach around and some roses," Crowley said snidely. "He'll be yours by next week. Give him a few days to kvetch…"

"No, you don't understand," Dean said, pointing at the window. "That _bastard_ lieutenant of mine seems to think he has some sort of _claim_ on Sam now that I'm gone-"

"Oh, so it's a competition thing," Crowley said, rolling his eyes. "Little Cassie is deeply in love with our favorite candy-eater. He wouldn't touch Sam."

"He threatened to," Dean countered, "And I believe him. I saw it in his eyes. He'd probably think he'd _helping_ Sam. But Sam isn't _his_."

"Ever wonder if this type of thinking was what got you in trouble in the first place?" Crowley asked snidely. "I'm not sure Sam likes being referred to as a possession. He's a perfectly fine human being."

"Are you going to help me or not?" Dean asked, glaring at him. "You know things aren't right. They're not balanced anymore."

"Whose fault is that?" Crowley asked, backing up. "Yours. And your little hissy fit over….what was his name again? Aaron?"

" _Adam_." Dean grit out. "His name was Adam."

"Riiiight _._ " the lawyer rolled his eyes, grabbing his cell phone. "You've fallen from grace. Chicago is done with you. Since you're obviously intent on making this worse…"

"Who are you calling?" Dean asked.

"Sam, you idi-hey! What the _fuck_?" Crowley yelped as Dean smacked the cellphone from his hands, watching it shatter on the hardwood by his feet. "That was a thousand dollar phone, you twat!"

"Maybe I didn't make myself clear," Dean said, voice eerily calm. He walked towards Crowley, crowding up in his space. "Get me Sam. Or I'll make sure you never practice law in this state again."

"I don't like threats," Crowley said, breathing a little too quickly. "I prefer deals."

"I don't like threats either, Crowley." Dean said, lips quirking. "It means I have to follow through on them."

"Well." Crowley said, after a moment of thought. "Where do we start?"

"I need clothes."

Crowley looked him up and down, wrinkling his nose.

"Now _that_ I can fix."

* * *

Sam checked the safety one last time before putting the gun in his pocket. It was a cold, harsh reminder against his leg that things were nowhere close to settled. He steadied himself against the cabinet, feeling yet another wave of dizziness pass over him.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror on his way to the men. His reflection looked slightly feverish, blinking dazedly. _No. Not good enough._

He steeled himself and walked outside, finding Castiel at his door yet again. He nodded once, the lieutenant falling into step behind him.

"Are you well?"

Sam scoffed, turning into the mansion's drawing room. "I don't think I've been well for a while now."

With a quirk of his lips, he gestured towards the strike team. "Are these your men?"

"Yes." Castiel said, moving to stand in front of them. "We will surround the port in the areas Gabriel has marked. Two pairs will go with you to observe the shipment. I will also be there, of course."

"Good." Sam said, putting his coat on. He looked at the strike team, cataloguing them quickly. "Let's go."

* * *

Dean smacked Crowley as the lawyer tried to reach for his binoculars. "Stop that. Right now."

"I can't _see_." the other man whined, burrowing down into their hiding spot. "In addition to that travesty, it's _cold_."

"Shut up," Dean growled, still looking through the binoculars. "You were the one who wanted to come with. You did this to yourself."

"I came along because I'm worried you're about to start another civil war," Crowley muttered, shivering as the wind caught at their position. "This is a terrible idea. Just so it's on the record."

"There he is," Dean said, interrupting. He pointed down to one of the warehouses, where a pair of SUVs had just pulled up. "He must be confronting them about the shipments. You didn't mention that."

"All I could find out was that he would be here," Crowley said, though he'd gotten a little pale. "Tell me I'm wrong, but aren't they a little outnumbered?"

Dean peered down at the docks, fists clenching. There were over forty men there from the Southside gang coalition. Sam only had…..twelve? No, this wasn't good at all.

He grabbed his gun and moved to stand. Crowley grabbed his arm.

"Are you idiotic?" the lawyer hissed. "You'll be killed!"

Dean wrenched his arm from his hold, beginning to load his Glock in the half-light. "I'm not letting Sam get killed because of some shitty advising from his two-timing lieutenants."

"You have no idea if this was Sam's plan or not."

"He's not in a right frame of mind," Dean said harshly, stepping into the shadows. "If Castiel can't see that, then I'm going to show him. I'm going to show him why I-" for a second, his voice cracked.

Crowley raised his eyebrows at the speechless boss. "You don't need to explain to me. You need to tell Sam all of this. How you feel and all of that business."

"Don't tell me what to do," Dean said gruffly, though his lips were twitching in the low light. Crowley saluted him and he slipped into the darkness, like he had never been there from the start.

* * *

Castiel watched as Sam discussed with the coalition's leader, keeping a ready hand near his gun. He didn't like the way this meeting was going, but it was necessary.

Sam was a sight to behold as always, coat whipping around him in the bitter winter wind. His face was pale, cheekbones sharp in the low light. The Southside gang hesitated around them, and it didn't take a genius to realize they would be outnumbered if things went south.

The leader's voice rose as Sam took a step back, face blank. Confronting the man directly hadn't been the best idea, but once again…

Castiel's heart froze as he heard gunshots, immediately leaping into action. He had his gun out and pressed to the head of the boss before a heartbeat had passed, but Sam was already gone.

"Run, you idiots!"

Castiel turned to find Dean running towards them like hell was on his heels, gun at his side. He caught sight of Sam to his right and dove after the boss as gunshots whizzed around them.

Dean tackled Sam as a man caught them around a corner, gun in their faces. Sam grunted as he made contact with the ground, face going startlingly white. He pushed himself up shakily, running after his husband. Castiel followed, a half second behind.

The strike teams covered their exit the best they could as they piled into the SUVs. Dean leaned out of the window, shielding Sam as the other man leapt into the car. Castiel blinked as three men went down in a series of seconds. Dean was pissed. _Good_.

Tires squealed as they retreated, burning rubber as shots flew over their heads.

* * *

Sam stumbled out of the SUV as soon as they were back at the mansion, arms stinging. His whole body felt numb, buzzing with exhaustion. His skin oscillated from feverishly hot to icy. He wasn't even sure…

"Sam, are you alright?" a hand grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around. "Jesus. Sam-"

Dean's face swam over him, green eyes boring into him. He could see Castiel and Gabriel behind him, trying to haul him off. "Get away from me…"

"Sam, you're bleeding-" Dean grabbed his wrists before Sam could shove him away. His protests were weak even so, watching crimson spread across his sleeves. God, it was going to be just like he'd feared-Dean yelling, the shame, the-

Dean peeled away the bandages so tenderly, Sam could barely feel it. He wanted to sob as his husband examined the cuts, a shocked look on his face. He pressed the bandages back over the open cuts, hands trembling. They made eye contact, and Sam swore he saw tears in Dean's eyes. _You're hallucinating._

Instead of directing his anger at Sam, Dean turned to Castiel, letting Sam's arms go. His expression was furious.

"Did you know about this?" he asked Castiel, so soft it barely registered. Sam saw Castiel hesitate, bearing the brunt of Dean's fury. "Answer me, or you won't like what I do next, _сука_."

Sam grabbed his shoulder, trying to turn him around. "Leave him alone-"

"I'm not done with you," Dean warned him, grabbing his wrist and gently disengaging him. "Castiel, on the other hand…"

"Dean, I…" Sam stumbled a little as Dean went after Castiel, his vision fuzzing in and out as another wave of dizziness overtook him. "I…"

Castiel narrowed his eyes as Dean approached, saying something Sam couldn't hear. He gasped as his ribs throbbed, reaching for a wall, a hand, anything to lean on-

"Dean.." he gasped. An arm wrapped under his shoulders, leading him down to the floor gently. "Dean…"

"I'm here, Sammy." Dean whispered in his ear, brushing his hair back. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Sam."

He looked up and saw green, miles and miles of green-Dean's eyes-then nothing as he passed out, almost guiltily, into his husband's arms.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N Liked it? Leave me a review and let me know what you thought! :)


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